The day my sister stepped into the limousine to take my place at the altar, Roman received a final notice from the hospital. “Mr. Ashford,” the voice on the other end was clipped, professional, yet laced with an ultimatum. “Ms. Lowell’s account is significantly in arrears. If the balance isn’t cleared today, we will be forced to cease all life-sustaining measures.” Roman let out a short, incredulous laugh, the sound sharp against the hum of the wedding preparations. “Tell Norah to stop the theatrics. It’s embarrassing,” he sneered into the phone, adjusting his silk tie. “Tell her that even if she dies today, I’m still marrying Sienna. She can save her little performance.” Around him, the groomsmen—scions of New York’s oldest money—chuckled in solidarity. “Is that hospital looking to get shut down?” one of them scoffed, swirling his scotch. “Don’t they know who they’re talking to? The Ashfords own half of Manhattan.” The call ended. In the sterile silence of the hospital room, I watched, helpless, as the nurse reached out and disconnected the ventilator. It took less than thirty seconds. The machine’s rhythmic hum died, leaving a deafening silence. The nurse checked her watch and spoke softly to the empty room. “Time of death: October 10th, 2025.” Today was the day I died. It was also Roman’s wedding anniversary. Roman didn’t think of me again until the reception was over. When the last guest had left and the confetti had been swept away, he finally drove to the hospital. He pushed open the door to my room. Seeing my body still lying on the bed, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “See?” He turned to the empty hallway, validating his own cruelty. “I told you no one would dare cut off your meds.” He started to walk toward me, a rebuke ready on his lips. But he was stopped by a voice from behind him—a somber man from the funeral home, holding a garment bag. “Excuse me, sir. I need you to step aside. It’s time to dress the body.” 1 “Roman, let me go check on her for you. I’ll find out which hospital has the nerve to threaten the Ashford family.” Roman had rejected his groomsman’s offer with a cold wave of his hand. “There’s nothing to see. It’s just Norah’s usual cry for attention,” he said, his voice dripping with fatigue. “Ever since the accident, she plays the victim card. She claims she has ALS, says she has no money for treatment. But I send Sienna to check on her every single day. It’s all a lie.” The groomsman tried to press the issue, but Roman’s patience snapped. “Did Norah pay you off? Why are you defending her?” The friend backed down, muttering an apology. Roman’s expression hardened. “When Norah got hurt, I made a promise,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “Even though Sienna is taking her place to fulfill the marriage contract between our families, I promised to take care of Norah for the rest of her life. Who would dare neglect someone under my protection? Stopping treatment? It’s absurd.” As he spoke, he caught sight of Sienna waiting in the vintage Rolls Royce. The ice in his eyes melted instantly. I was nothing but a wisp of consciousness floating in the air, watching the man I once loved look at my sister with adoration. The bitterness in my chest was overwhelming. Roman didn’t know. From the day he decided to let Sienna wear the ring meant for me, I had been erased. My parents, desperate to cement their climb up the social ladder, backed Sienna’s decision to move me. “Move her somewhere cheap,” they had agreed. “We can’t have a cripple embarrassing the family name.” So Sienna transferred me. They dumped me in a sub-standard facility, cut off the specialists, and fired the private nurses. They let my brain injury spiral into the aggressive progression of ALS. In the beginning, Roman would call. Even when he was busy closing billion-dollar deals, he checked in. Until his mother, the formidable Victoria Ashford, stood at the foot of my bed and demanded he break the engagement. “Roman, marrying a paralyzed woman will make this family a laughingstock,” she had hissed, her face flushed with indignation. “She can’t be a hostess. She can’t give us an heir. The Ashfords do not support useless assets.” I still remember the shame of that day, having nowhere to hide my broken body. So when I heard Sienna would take my place, part of me was relieved. How could I, a woman wasting away, stand beside Roman Ashford? But now, seeing Sienna in the Vera Wang gown custom-made for my measurements, wearing the diamond Roman had cut specifically for my finger… the pain was a physical spike through my phantom heart. Inside the ballroom, glasses clinked. Someone shouted a toast. “Congrats, Roman! Here’s to a lifetime with your girl. May you have a son within the year!” The room went quiet for a split second. The “girl” was supposed to be me, once upon a time. Roman leaned toward his assistant, whispering something low. “Check on Norah’s status at the hospital.” Sienna noticed the shift in his mood. “Roman? Is everything okay?” He forced a smile, squeezing her hand. “Everything is perfect. Someone just mentioned a baby. Don’t forget that part of the deal.” Sienna blushed, and the sight burned my eyes. Even as a ghost, Roman’s tenderness toward her felt like suffocation. I wanted to flee, to dissolve into the ether. But then, the assistant rushed back in, looking frantic. “Roman, the hospital says Norah isn’t there. She was transferred months ago. She’s gone.” 2 “What did you say?” Roman shot up from his seat, his chair screeching against the floor. He moved to leave, but Sienna grabbed his arm. “Roman, where are you going?” “You visit Norah every day,” he snapped, his voice rising. “Did you know she was transferred?!” Sienna froze. A flicker of panic crossed her eyes, but she smoothed it over instantly with a practiced calmness. “Yes, I had her moved. But I did it for her own good, Roman. I found a place that specializes in her condition.” She softened her voice, pleading. “Even if you don’t trust me, you know no hospital in New York would dare mistreat a Lowell connected to an Ashford. She’s fine.” The tension in Roman’s jaw loosened slightly, but the shadow of unease remained between his brows. Sienna seized the moment, linking her arm through his and pulling him back toward the celebration. I watched him sit back down, and the flicker of hope I’d felt was extinguished. Roman, she’s lying to you! Just go to the hospital! If you go, you’ll see! I screamed at him, floating right beside his ear. I shouted until my soul ached. But he couldn’t hear me. I watched them exchange rings. My vision blurred. The reception dragged on for hours. When it finally ended, I followed Roman. He didn’t go to the bridal suite. He went to my old hospital room—the fancy one I hadn’t been in for months. He stood outside the door, listening. My heart—if it still beat—would have been deafening. But he didn’t open the door. He just looked through the small glass pane at the empty bed, assuming I was asleep. “Norah,” he whispered to the silence. “I got married today.” He leaned his forehead against the wood, sounding exhausted. “I know you hate me for marrying Sienna. But there are things out of my control. You know I loved you. I told you once—it was always you.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he remembered. We met at the Ashford estate. My parents dragged me there to network. I was supposed to play the violin for his mother’s birthday, but I froze. The stares of the elite were too heavy. It was Roman who walked onto the stage, sat at the piano, and guided me through the melody. He later claimed he just didn’t want the party ruined, but that night, our fates knotted together. Loving him was exhausting. Everyone mocked me—the climber chasing the crown prince. But on his eighteenth birthday, he took my hand in front of everyone. “Norah,” he had said, “I don’t start things I don’t finish. You’re going to be Mrs. Ashford. Don’t try to run.” We were so sure of our future then. “Don’t hate me, Norah,” Roman said now, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He looked at the “No Smoking” sign, then at my “sleeping” form through the glass, and put the lighter away. He tapped the glass gently. “Tomorrow, I’ll move you. I’ll bring you to the hospital closest to our penthouse. Okay?” The room remained silent. Finally sensing something was wrong, Roman frowned and reached for the handle. Just then, his phone rang. “Sienna’s sick? I’m coming.” His hand dropped. He turned and left. The door stayed closed. 3 I didn’t follow Roman back. I couldn’t bear to witness his wedding night. instead, I waited in the silence of the room where my body lay. Roman said he would come. He always kept his word, eventually. But the next morning, I was woken by screaming in the hallway. I drifted out and saw Nana Rose—my grandmother, the only person who ever truly loved me—arguing with Sienna. “Nana!” I cried out, reaching for her. But Nana was focused on Sienna, her eyes blazing with fury. “Norah is dead! None of you came to help her, none of you came to hold her hand, and now you want to steal her body?” Sienna didn’t back down. She crossed her arms, cold and imperious. “This is all Norah’s fault. It was my wedding night, and Roman left me alone to come check on her! She’s a curse. Even dead, she’s haunting us.” “I’m moving her body,” Sienna spat. “I’m dumping it somewhere Roman will never find it.” Nana clutched her chest, her face paling. I tried to push Sienna away, but my hands passed through her like smoke. “I don’t have a sister,” Sienna continued, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “If she hadn’t existed, everything the Lowells have would have been mine from the start. Why did I have to be the one sent away to boarding school while she stayed home?” I froze. I never knew she hated me this much. Nana was begging now. “Sienna, please. She’s gone. She can’t stop you and Roman anymore. Let her rest.” Sienna laughed, a cruel, sharp sound, and shoved Nana hard. “Old hag. I’m not soft like you. I don’t care about morality. I paid someone to arrange Norah’s ‘accident’ years ago, and she survived it. Now Roman wants to move her closer? No. She needs to disappear so he can finally forget her.” The revelation hit me like a physical blow. My paralysis… the accident that ruined my life… it was my sister. Nana screamed, “My Norah… oh, my poor Norah!” Sienna, impatient, grabbed Nana and threw her aside. Nana hit the floor hard, her head cracking against the linoleum. Blood began to pool. “What are you doing?!” I screamed, sobbing, uselessly beating my fists against Sienna’s back. “She’s your grandmother!” Sienna stepped over Nana to open the door to my room. Nana, bleeding and desperate, lunged forward and grabbed Sienna’s ankle. “I won’t let you hurt her again!” Sienna stumbled. She fell hard, her stomach hitting the floor. She gasped, curling into a ball, clutching her abdomen. Then, blood—bright and red—began to stain her white dress. “What did you do to Sienna?!” A man’s voice roared from the elevator banks. It was Roman. 4 “Roman!” I screamed, pointing at Nana. “Sienna hurt Nana! Look at the blood on her head!” But Roman was deaf to me. His eyes were locked only on the crimson stain spreading across Sienna’s white skirt. Sienna, eyes bloodshot and wild, grabbed Roman’s sleeve. “Roman… I just wanted to see my sister… but Nana… she told me to get out. She attacked me… I couldn’t fight back… our baby…” I stood frozen. Baby? I looked at Roman’s panicked profile, and my world collapsed for the second time. They had been together long enough to conceive. While I was rotting in a bed, waiting for a call that never came. Roman glared at the closed door of my room, his voice vibrating with rage. “Norah! I promised I’d move you today! Why would you incite this violence against Sienna? Come out here and apologize to her right now! Or I swear, I am done with you!” The room remained silent. I trembled, watching him. Nana, clutching her chest, gasped out, “Mr. Ashford… Norah is dead… she couldn’t have told me to do anything… Sienna is lying…” Roman paused, a frown creasing his forehead. Sienna saw his hesitation. “Roman, would I lie about our child? Nana has always hated me. She only ever loved Norah.” Roman’s doubt vanished. He signaled his bodyguards. Two massive men grabbed Nana, pinning her arms. Roman turned back to the door. “Norah. If you don’t come out, I’ll let the person you love most pay the price for you.” He checked his watch. “Three seconds.” “Roman, I’m dead! Please, leave her alone!” I screamed. “Just open the door! Just look!” He nodded to his guard. The man kicked Nana in the back of the knee. She collapsed to the floor with a sickening thud, gasping for air. “Apologize to my fiancée!” the guard barked. “I… I can’t breathe…” Nana wheezed. “Asthma…” Her trembling hands fumbled for her purse. But Sienna reached out and kicked the bag across the hall. “Keep kneeling,” Sienna sneered. “I don’t feel your apology yet.” Roman watched Sienna’s cruelty. He opened his mouth to object, but then his eyes fell on the blood on her dress again, and he stayed silent. I tried to hold Nana, my tears mixing with the blood on her face. “Roman, please! Help her!” Just as Nana’s face began to turn purple, the elevator chimed. A staff member from the funeral home walked out, holding a garment bag. He looked around the chaotic hallway. “Where is the family of Norah Lowell? I have the burial shroud. Who is going to dress her?”

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It happened during the final hour of the State-wide University Entrance Exam—the moment I suddenly went blind. Rushed to the Emergency Room, the doctors ran every test imaginable, but they came back clean. “No discernible cause,” they said. My career as a high school English teacher was over. Driven by necessity, I earned a license as a therapeutic massage therapist, relying on the sensitivity of my hands. Then, one day during a session, I overheard a conversation between two clients. “That teacher who went blind, it was perfect timing,” a man’s voice boasted. “I copied one multiple-choice answer from the paper while she was distracted, and that was just enough. Two points over the cut-off for the Ivy-tier schools. It’s been twenty years, man. I wonder how she’s doing. Northwood High, the summer of ’05, Exam Room 28. Man, my whole life was in that room.” The second man’s voice was a low, gravelly rasp. “I know exactly why she went blind. And the killer was right there in the exam room.” I froze, heart hammering against the massage table, breath held tight as I waited for them to continue. The silence stretched for what felt like minutes. Then, a sudden, ice-cold pressure pressed against my neck. A knife. I opened my eyes again. I was back. I was sitting in the exact same exam room, two decades in the past. 1 My eyes blinked, taking in the world in sharp, bright detail. The fluorescent lights hummed, the gray walls felt solid, the faces of the teenagers were perfectly clear. I was back in the final hour of the exam, the ticking clock the only difference between this life and the last. The killer… who is the killer? And right before the darkness consumed me that first time, who was it who actually killed me? But I had no time to process it. The familiar bell for the final ten minutes of the exam rang out, sharp and jarring. The awful clack-clack-clack of my co-monitor’s heels echoed across the linoleum floor. Ten minutes. In ten minutes, my vision would dissolve into blackness. I couldn’t risk it. Not again. Not for anything. But what if I just pretended to be sick and left? What if the killer simply targeted the substitute? I tossed all concerns about protocol and disruption out the window. “No one should be in this room!” I screamed, shooting out of my chair. “The teacher in this room, whoever it is, is going to be targeted! Someone here is going to make the teacher go blind!” It only took moments. I was immediately hauled out by a proctor and then the campus security, accused of disturbing the final, most crucial minutes of a major examination. As I was put into the back of a police cruiser, a huge, rattling sigh of relief escaped my lungs. I’m out. Now, it was out of my hands. At a temporary staging area in the school administration building, a Sergeant Miller interrogated me, his face a mask of furious disbelief. “Why the hell did you disrupt the exam, Ms. Sinclair? We’ve swept every single student in that room for abnormal materials. There’s nothing. What is your motive for slandering these students?” He slammed his hand hard on the metal table, the sound making me jump. I tried to keep my composure. “I told you, Sergeant. I heard a whisper right before I walked in—a student saying they wished the teacher would go blind.” I stared him down. “Losing your sight over something as senseless as monitoring an exam is too high a price to pay.” My explanation clearly did not satisfy him. “That sounds like a nervous kid joking, Ms. Sinclair. You’re a teacher. You actually believe that?” He leaned in closer. “Consider yourself lucky, the exam hadn’t formally ended yet. If you’d pulled this stunt minutes later, you’d be sitting in county jail right now.” I had been blacklisted from all future examinations, and my job was definitely on the line. But compared to two decades of blindness and degradation? It was nothing. As he escorted me out, I couldn’t help but stop at the gate. “Sergeant, what if they were serious? If another teacher loses their sight, it’ll be too late. You need to investigate this.” “One more word, Ms. Sinclair, and I will book you for harassment.” Free of the school grounds, I felt a rush of adrenaline mixed with pure dread. I drove straight to the best ophthalmologist in the city. The results, however, were an exact repeat of the last timeline. “Ms. Sinclair, your retina and optical nerve are pristine. You don’t have an ounce of astigmatism. This sudden blindness you mentioned is medically impossible.” I sat in the crowded hospital waiting room, watching a man with a cane and a guide dog navigate the lobby. I remembered the last twenty years: losing my job, my fiancé ending our engagement, the desperation that led me to the massage parlor, and the sleazy clients who would expose themselves, daring me to touch them. But I had been saved. I could see. My eyes could take the full measure of the world again. Then, a sudden burst of frantic sobs from the hallway pulled me back. My heart seized. Another teacher, clearly distraught, was being rushed into the eye clinic. It was Harper Rhodes, the co-monitor from my exam room. Inside the examination room, I could hear her frantic voice describing the terror to the doctor. “Doctor, I was just monitoring the room, and then suddenly I couldn’t see! My eyes are normally fine! What is happening to me?” After the examination, the doctor sighed. “Your retina and cornea are structurally fine, Ms. Rhodes. We simply can’t explain why you’ve lost your vision.” I stood outside the room, my hands trembling uncontrollably. Harper Rhodes was now blind. How? I had disrupted the exam, made a scene, screamed a warning. How had the killer still managed to execute their plan? The doctor sat by his machine, muttering, “This is bizarre. Just an hour ago, another woman came in, asking me if it was possible to suddenly go blind even if all her tests were normal.” He noticed me and called out my name. Harper, hearing the doctor, instantly recognized my voice. “You were the teacher in my room, weren’t you? Are you here because you lost your sight too? You warned me! Did you know something? Which student did this to me?” She sounded terrified, manic. I knew she wouldn’t believe the truth—that I was a time traveler. I gave her the same line I used on the police. “Right before the exam started, I thought I heard a student say they wished the teacher would go blind. There were too many students around the door to see who it was, but they all ended up in that room. I know it sounds crazy, but…” Harper was hysterical. “Investigate! You have to investigate! Who used some kind of twisted trick to do this to me?” I felt a surge of cold relief. This was it. Now the case would be taken seriously. In the last timeline, I had no one. When I asked for an investigation, the parents had rallied against me: “You’re ruining our children’s chances! You can’t even find a cause—who knows if this is just a defect in your own body! Don’t push this on innocent kids!” But now, with two of us demanding answers, the police would have to listen. More importantly, I remembered the killer’s voice from the massage parlor. If I could just hear it again, I could identify him. I accompanied Harper to the police station. They immediately went back to Northwood High. But another sweep of the students, who were growing increasingly resentful, still revealed nothing. “We can’t disrupt the other two days of the exam,” the Sergeant insisted. “We’ll conduct a thorough review once the testing is complete.” The rumors, however, were already flying. “Why are they only searching our room? Who are they accusing of cheating?” “It’s not cheating. It’s about the blind teacher. They think one of us poisoned her.” Having faked an illness to pull out of the exam room, I spent the next three days monitoring the situation. My eyes remained perfectly fine. I learned that Harper, an art teacher, was near collapse. She couldn’t paint, and now she struggled with basic daily living—the same reality that had been mine. Three days of hospital visits, all ending with the same infuriating answer: No cause. Finally, the exam ended. As the students slowly dispersed, I nervously approached a holding room. Thirty students were crammed inside. Harper and the police were already waiting. “So, Ms. Sinclair, you said you heard a student say they hoped the teacher would go blind, correct?” I nodded, my voice catching in my throat. “Yes. And I remember the voice. It was a male student.” A wave of noise erupted from the boys in the room. “Alright, all the young men in this room, line up,” the detective instructed. “You will read this printed statement aloud, one at a time.” He held up a paper. “No one needs to be nervous. Do not attempt to alter your natural speaking voice.” One by one, the boys read the text and then left. I held my breath, straining to hear the low, raspy tone of the man who had spoken right before the knife slit my throat in the last life. The last male student finished reading the final word. My heart sank. I hadn’t heard either of the voices from the massage parlor. I had been blind for twenty years; I had developed the ability to identify people by their speech patterns. While a voice changes over time, the rhythm and cadence rarely do. I tried again. “Can I listen to the last three boys one more time?” I closed my eyes this time, concentrating on the sound, not the sight. And then, I found the flaw. One boy had deliberately altered his tone, making it sound unnaturally high. It was Ethan Keller, the boy who had confessed to copying a multiple-choice answer. If I had the voice of the cheater, I could eventually find the voice of the actual killer. “I remember you talking to another boy right before,” I accused, pointing at Ethan. Harper looked manic. “Good! Tell the police! How did you make me go blind?” Ethan, however, insisted he didn’t know anyone else in the room. “Teachers, I swear I didn’t do anything! I didn’t talk to anyone! I just… I just quickly glanced at an answer sheet after the other teacher suddenly went still.” He was immediately taken away for further questioning. As his confession aligned with the first man’s words from the last timeline, I knew he wasn’t the killer. It was also possible he simply hadn’t met the killer yet. But where was the other man? “Why, why would he do this to me? I don’t even know him! Even if I went blind, another teacher would have taken my place—he still couldn’t have cheated!” Harper was nearing total hysteria. She dropped to her knees. “Please! I am begging you! Just tell me how you did this! If you tell me how to reverse it, I won’t press charges! I have a child! Please, let me live my life!” Her agony was a searing mirror of my own past. Then, a memory surfaced—something I felt during that fateful massage. On the back of the killer’s neck, I had felt a distinct, small, fleshy nodule. Ignoring the stares of the police and the students, I rushed down the line of remaining boys, my hands quickly but firmly brushing the back of their necks. Then, my heart hammered hard against my ribs. I closed my eyes and carefully felt the small bump—a tiny, pea-sized cyst. It was exactly as I remembered it. I spun around, pointing at the student, Preston Pierce. “It’s him! It was you talking that day, wasn’t it?” I screamed, grabbing his shoulders. “Tell us what you did! How did you poison the teacher?” My face was flushed, my eyes welling up with tears. No one understood the sheer force of the two decades of trauma driving this breakdown. As a detective moved toward Preston, the boy flashed me a dark, knowing smirk. His lips formed a single, silent sentence: “You will never know who the killer is.” Then, to the collective horror of everyone in the room, he sprinted across the classroom and threw himself out the fifth-floor window. He landed head-first on the pavement below. He was dead instantly. Preston Pierce’s suicide threw the entire city into chaos.

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My Nana’s memory was shot. She’d forget I’d already eaten and still dish up a massive bowl. I genuinely couldn’t handle the extra food, so I’d try to distribute the bounty—a spoonful to the stray dog. A scatter of grains for the chicken wandering by. I even looked up at a kid passing by and asked, “Want some?” The kid blinked, surprised, then nodded, face flushing. But right after he finished, he passed out. I froze, ready to scream for help. Then, the glowing text appeared. 1 I was ten years old. My parents, both too busy with their high-powered jobs, decided to send me out to the country to stay with my Nana in her small Midwestern town. She was supposed to look after me. Nana was the best—gentle, kind, and devoted. She worried about me constantly. But she had that one flaw: the older she got, the worse her memory became. She was always forgetting I’d eaten. I’d just finish a huge serving of her slow-simmered pork ribs and noodles, and the next moment, she’d forget and whip up a massive bowl of her famous Egg Fried Rice. I stared at the golden, fragrant mountain of rice in my hands, shimmering with three or four fluffy eggs. I just… sighed. I knew this was her love for me, pure and unfiltered. But too much love doesn’t just make you complacent; it makes you plump. I cupped my own ridiculously chubby cheeks and couldn’t help but groan. Nana didn’t notice my inner turmoil. She beamed at me. “Skylar, darling, Nana is going out to the garden now. Be a good girl, okay? I’ll bring you back some sweet raspberries for dessert.” With a final pat on my head, she grabbed her trowel and headed out. I sat on the porch step, spooning the heavy bowl. I couldn’t eat another bite, but wasting food was a sin in Nana’s house. My eyes landed on Big Yellow, the neighborhood mutt, ambling past. I scooped two generous spoonfuls into his empty metal dish. Big Yellow ate it all, then promptly stretched out on the ground and began a contented afternoon nap. No help there. I looked toward a passing hen. A chicken’s appetite, however, was even smaller. One tiny peck, and she squawked and ran off, the mountain of rice barely grazed. I was at my wit’s end. My gaze drifted to a kid walking down the dirt lane. He looked maybe a year or two older than me, wearing a faded T-shirt that had been washed threadbare. He was walking with his eyes straight ahead, clearly trying to slip past unnoticed. I called out, holding up the bowl. “Hey, want some?” The boy slowly turned, pointing a hesitant finger at himself. “Me?” I nodded emphatically. “Yeah! You!” Hearing my confident, city-kid tone, the dullness in his eyes instantly lifted. But he was still shy. He stood rooted to the spot, fidgeting awkwardly. I got impatient. I grabbed his hand and tugged him down onto the small, smooth stone bench next to the porch, setting the heavy bowl in his lap. “Hurry up and eat! Egg Fried Rice isn’t nearly as good when it’s cold!” I leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m telling you, my Nana’s Egg Fried Rice is the best in the world. It’s seriously amazing.” He watched me, half-believing, half-skeptical. Then he picked up the spoon and took a small taste. Then a big bite. Then he started devouring it, scarfing down the food like he hadn’t eaten in days. Watching him eat so hungrily, a wave of deep satisfaction washed over me. Phew. No waste. I sat there, watching him scrape up the final grains of rice. I was just about to ask him how he liked it. But the next second, his body went soft, and he slumped sideways, sliding onto the ground. My jaw dropped. What? Allergy? Egg… Egg Fried Rice allergy? I’d never heard of such a thing! Terrified, I was about to bolt for the fields to find Nana when a cascade of brilliant, luminous text exploded in front of my eyes. I scanned the buzzing wall of text, but only two words registered: Carb Coma. Okay. No emergency then. Phew. But he couldn’t just sleep there. Nana always said your belly button shouldn’t get cold. I ran inside, my little legs pumping, and grabbed a small, knitted blanket from the living room. Just as I managed to cover him, he shifted. The boy opened his eyes a slit, staring up at me with a confused, hazy look. He reached out and grasped my hand.

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I became the NPC in a romance novel, and the System’s mission was simple: get the supporting male lead. He wanted me to fetch his bespoke artisanal coffee, bring him water, and even rub his shoulders after a long day. If he craved a specific kind of late-night ramen from a noodle shop six miles away, I drove straight there. But when the success meter hit ninety-nine percent, the heroine kissed him right in front of me. The meter zeroed out. The System asked me, its voice a tired buzz in my head. “Third failure. Do you want to continue?” I felt the life drain out of me. “No. I want to go home.” In that instant, I saw him—Liam Kinsley—snap his head up, his eyes suddenly wide with panic as he looked at me. 1 Eliza Reed lost a round of Truth or Dare, and the forfeit was to kiss any guy in the room. Her eyes, of course, locked immediately onto my fiancé, Liam. I was sitting beside him on the sofa, painstakingly peeling the white pith from a clementine that he preferred to eat perfectly clean. One of Liam’s friends glanced my way. “Audrey won’t mind, right? It’s just a party game.” Liam slung his arm around my shoulder and gave the guy a cold, sidelong look. “Knock it off. That’s disgusting.” His friend recoiled, muttering about how lucky I was to be so loved by Liam Kinsley. But I knew the truth. His fingers were digging into my shoulder, making it ache. When I looked up, silently pleading with my eyes, his attention was completely focused on Eliza, his awareness of me entirely absent. This was an alumni gathering, and Eliza had been the undisputed campus queen. Everyone was chanting for her to go through with the kiss. Eliza’s eyes were glistening, a fragile smile plastered on her face, her peripheral vision fixed squarely on us. Dean, a guy who’d been obsessed with her back in college, slid an arm around her. “If Liam won’t play ball, I will. I’m here.” Dean gave a lewd smile and edged closer. “Just a peck, come on. Right here.” Liam lowered his head and took the clementine I’d just finished peeling, popping a section into his mouth. He looked as effortlessly charming and gentle as always, and he even broke off a small piece, offering it toward my mouth. But I could see the success meter above his head ticking down. He was using me to distract himself. He was hurting for her. Eliza winced, holding back a sob. Just as Dean’s face was about to connect with hers, she shoved him hard. “I won’t do it.” Her voice cracked. The clementine segment froze halfway to my lips. “My heart has always belonged to only one person,” Eliza announced, her voice gaining a dramatic strength. “I know he’s about to get married, but I still want to be brave today.” With that, she strode over, pulled me back by my arm, cupped Liam’s face in both her hands, and kissed him. The whole room fell silent. Liam didn’t resist. In fact, the moment Eliza started to pull away, he gripped her arm, pulling her back in to deepen the kiss. The clementine in my hand slipped, rolling onto the ground and collecting dust. The room erupted. Everyone was cheering, several people pulling out phones to film. I bent down to retrieve the fruit, only to watch it burst under the heel of someone’s expensive loafer, turning into a piece of disgusting mush. Irretrievable. The System was screaming at my side. “Liam Kinsley, do you remember you have a girlfriend?!” No one could hear it but me. The alarm bells in my mind were shrill and repetitive: “Success meter zeroed out! Zeroed out!” They kissed for a long time, finally pulling away, breathless, hands still clinging to each other’s shoulders, their eyes glazed with a mutual, sticky affection. The next second, Liam swept Eliza up into his arms right in front of everyone and carried her toward the door. The System, defeated, asked me again. “Third failure. Do you want to continue?” I shook my head, my heart a dead stone. “No. I want to go home.” In my peripheral vision, I saw Liam pause for a split second, but then he kept going, disappearing without a backward glance. He had abandoned me in front of all our friends. Liam’s car was long gone. We were miles from the city center, and I was left to walk. One luxury SUV after another sped past me. Then, Dean, the guy Eliza had humiliated, pulled up beside me, leaning out of the window to sneer. “I always knew you were a sneaky hanger-on,” he scoffed. “Always swooping in when Eliza wasn’t around. Go back to being his errand girl, and stop trying to steal what’s hers.” He floored the gas pedal, deliberately choking me with exhaust fumes. I pulled out a tissue to wipe the grit from my face, catching and wiping away the tears as well. I hadn’t tried to steal anyone. When I was dropped into this romance novel, Eliza had already left Liam to get engaged overseas to the actual male lead, Felix Shaw. The System told me that achieving a hundred percent success would not only save Liam from his destined tragic death but also pay me four million dollars to go home. This was my third try. The first time, I pulled him from a set mishap fire. He woke up with amnesia, publicly accused me of being the arsonist, and dragged my name online. The second time, he finally agreed to marry me, and I spent six months meticulously planning the wedding. On the day, Eliza called him, crying, and he walked out on the altar, leaving me for her. Before, I could blame my seventy or eighty percent meter reading. But this time—ninety-nine percent. And still, the same fate. The System tried to comfort me, saying I only had ten days left before I could return home. But it warned that because I was going against the tide of the world’s narrative, I would experience some kind of backlash right before leaving. I managed a bitter laugh, suppressing the urge to cry again. After all the emotional turmoil I’d endured to win him over, what was a little more pain? The next day, Liam had an early shoot, so I arrived on set before dawn to prepare everything. Since I was going home soon, I didn’t want to leave any loose ends. Liam was an hour late, and he wouldn’t pick up his phone. The director, a well-known veteran, wouldn’t dare yell at Liam, so he turned on me. “You’re his assistant! Why didn’t you coordinate his schedule properly?” I had confirmed everything with Liam yesterday. I apologized profusely, bowing again and again, and desperately texted Liam, asking when he would arrive. I instinctively worried about his career. This film was his shot at the Best Actor award he’d coveted for years. And this director was not a man you wanted to cross. As I was spinning in a panic, I learned Liam had just messaged the director, asking for a sudden three-day personal leave. Given his stellar reputation and high status, the director immediately agreed. However, the production had already incurred losses. The director billed the costs to Liam’s manager, Denise. Denise, furious, blamed me entirely, docking three months of my pay as a “lesson.” She even posted about it in the company group chat, using me as a public example. Liam remained silent. He didn’t defend me. Moments later, Eliza posted an Instagram Story. The photo showed their fingers tightly intertwined. “Teehee, I told the future Best Actor I was bored, and he canceled work to come play with me.” The comments flooded in. “Now this is a power couple! A match made in heaven!” “Stay together forever! Don’t let that trash Audrey Stone worm her way back in.” “Ha! She had four years and couldn’t hold onto him. Total waste.” Liam’s only reply was to Eliza: “Anything for you, El. Just be happy.” He was openly displaying his devotion to her and ignoring the public humiliation I was facing. I couldn’t help but message him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were taking leave? I’m not just your assistant, I’m your girlfriend.” He replied almost instantly. “You’re just the assistant, Audrey. I don’t need to give you a heads-up on everything.” Just the assistant. For Eliza, the man who had never taken a personal day in his life had suddenly taken three days off. And now he was drawing a cold, hard line between us. It was clear: nothing was more important than Eliza. I didn’t bother replying. I deleted every message thread with him. I was done. I needed to quit. I went to the agency office to find Denise and bumped directly into Eliza. She winced, rubbing her shoulder. She looked up, ready to snap at the offender, but her expression softened when she saw it was me. “Fancy meeting you here.” Liam must have come back to deal with some business, and she was too clingy to let him go alone. She spotted the crumpled resignation letter that had fallen from my hand and gasped dramatically. “Liam just took a little break to hang out with me. Why are you throwing a tantrum and quitting?” With one sentence, she had successfully framed me as irrational. She took my hand and apologized sweetly. “I’m so sorry, Audrey. We were having so much fun that we forgot to tell you that Liam took the day. We promise it won’t happen again. We’ll make sure you’re always in the loop.” She lowered her voice. “That post was terrible. Please don’t take it to heart. Honestly, I’m so grateful to you for taking such good care of Liam all these years.” She gave me a gentle, generous smile. I managed a polite smile and tried to pull my hand away. “You don’t need to say that. I’m truly—” Eliza’s smile didn’t falter, but her grip on my hand tightened. I didn’t overthink it; I just didn’t want any more connection with her. I yanked my hand free and slapped her across the face. A bright red handprint bloomed instantly on Eliza’s pale cheek. She clutched her face, looking utterly shocked. She started to raise her hand to strike back. Liam burst into the room and grabbed her arm. “Eliza, what are you doing?” He was standing between us, defending her. A wave of pent-up bitterness and betrayal surged up, and I started to cry. Eliza was tearful too, pointing at her face. “Liam, she hit me first! She called me a home-wrecker and a slut and slapped me! I only tried to defend myself, and you just happened to see it! She did this to provoke me!” Liam slowly released her hand. He believed her. He gently touched her cheek, his voice soft with concern. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood. Does it hurt?” He wiped her tears, sheltered her behind his body, and turned a cold gaze on me. “Apologize.” My tears were still streaming, but he just clicked his tongue in impatience. “And you’re still crying? You’re the one with no integrity. How can you have the gall to look upset?” The System, furious, yelled next to me. “You need to get your eyes checked, Liam! Why do you believe her but not your own girlfriend! She abandoned you for Felix Shaw! Audrey saved your life when you were suicidal! You said she was the only saving grace you had! You forgot all of it! Just wait, you’ll regret it when she’s truly gone!” Liam gave a quiet, measured laugh, and then spoke calmly. “My heart has only ever been with Eliza. I don’t care about anyone else.” His words stunned me, and even the System froze. “Did he just hear me?” I remained silent, simply wiping the tears from my cheeks. Then, I spoke lightly. “You’re right. I lack integrity.” I picked up my resignation letter and signed it. “I don’t deserve to be your assistant.” “So I quit.” His expression solidified for a moment, and his charming smile slowly faded. “Are you serious?” I ignored him, walking past. He moved to follow me, but Eliza grabbed his arm. “Liam, she’s just being dramatic. She’d never actually leave you.” He stopped. I scoffed, not looking back. Whether I was serious or not, he would find out soon enough.

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My husband was sobbing his heart out at my best friend’s wedding. My best friend, Chloe, was so rattled she rushed over to clarify. “Avery, I swear, your husband and I? We are not a thing! We’ve never been a thing!” Fueled by alcohol, my husband, Dean, slammed his hand on a table in the reception hall, pointed a finger at me, and bellowed. “Avery Harrison! I want a divorce!” Every guest instantly looked at Chloe’s husband, who instinctively reached up to feel the top of his head for imaginary cuckold horns. “What, did your girlfriend dump you?” Chloe’s husband muttered, confused. Of course, I knew exactly why Dean was having a public meltdown today. The woman he was sleeping with—the woman he claimed was his soulmate—was getting married right now, just down the hall in the ballroom next door. 1 I’d seen their texts. I’d read every single one. Savannah: Dean, I’m getting married tomorrow. Will you be there? Savannah: No, you shouldn’t come. I’m scared I’ll see you and won’t be able to stop myself from running away with you. But I know you’d never divorce her for me. Savannah: If there’s a next life, I promise I’ll find you first. I’ll hold you when you’re in pain and tell you I love you. Savannah: I love you, Dean! Then, she’d blocked him. Dean kept frantically sending messages into the void, knowing full well she couldn’t see them. Dean: Babe, I love you too!! I love you!! I love you more than anyone! Dean: But I owe her, Savannah. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I don’t love her anymore. All I feel is guilt! Dean: Can you just wait for me a little longer? I love you so much. I love you, I love you. Dean: If I came and crashed your wedding tomorrow, would you run away with me? Such deep, passionate love. A tragedy for the ages. It almost made me feel like the Wicked Witch of the West, the old crone keeping the star-crossed lovers apart. At my best friend’s reception, Dean was throwing off all pretense, ripping the veil off our life, and demanding a divorce. He was willing to lose his dignity; I was happy to oblige. All our mutual friends looked at him with sympathy. They patted his shoulder. “Hey, Dean, you’ve put up with Avery’s… diva attitude for years. Just talk to her. Make her change. Divorce is too harsh, buddy.” Chloe, ever the mediator, also stepped in, her smile strained. “What did Avery do? I’ll make her apologize. You’re a grown man, Dean. You must be deeply hurt to be crying like this.” Chloe’s husband, now certain his marriage was safe, joined in. “Seriously, man, this is my wedding. Show some respect. Don’t blow up your life on my dime.” Only a completely unhinged person would announce a divorce at someone else’s wedding. The fact that Chloe’s family hadn’t physically thrown him out was a testament to their restraint. But Dean had already chosen his path. “It has to happen today! I’m divorcing you! Avery, I’m sick of you! The thought of spending the rest of my life with someone like you makes me sick!” He drove the knife in deep. He clearly wanted no turning back. He wanted a divorce, and he was determined to drown me in his filth while doing it. He thought I was clueless. Chloe nudged my arm. “What did you do to him? Why is he so furious? Go mollify him, Avery. He looks serious.” Even my closest friend thought I was the problem. Everyone in the room was urging me to apologize, assuming my high-maintenance attitude had finally pushed the poor man over the edge. I was an only child. I’d grown up pampered, and yes, I had an entitled streak. I knew it. But over the years, I’d consciously scaled back my temper, especially with Dean. I remembered when my father warned Dean, “My daughter has a difficult, demanding personality. Please be patient with her.” And Dean’s response? “Avery is perfect! A little attitude? Who cares? If she didn’t have a single flaw, I’d never have a chance with her! Besides, I think Avery has a great temperament!” Now, Dean’s main reason for divorce was my temper—I was too strong, too bossy, and suffocating him. Once the love is gone, the virtues that once charmed them become the fatal flaws. The first time Dean mentioned divorce, I was completely blindsided. One moment, we were wrapped up in a tender, morning embrace, the next, he was on the phone, and suddenly, he said, “Avery, I think we need to talk.” I sat up, pulling the duvet around me, and looked up at him. “Talk about what? Our weekend trip? I booked us a lovely boutique hotel upstate. I even did all the research on the best vineyards. Isn’t that great? I’m so organized!” I waited for the praise I was sure would follow. Dean stared at me for a long time. Then he said, “I want a divorce. I’m exhausted being with you. Avery, even in a marriage, there has to be a boundary. I need my own space. I want to spend a weekend alone sometimes. We don’t have to do everything together.” “Your temper is awful, and I’m always the one accommodating you. But have you ever thought about my feelings? I get angry too. I need to vent. I need to be accommodated sometimes.” 2 I spent those next few months in a constant state of self-doubt. I thought that by dedicating all my free time to my partner, he would be happy and appreciate it. I loved him, and I wanted him by my side every second. Didn’t he feel the same? I reached out to every relationship guru and therapist online. Do couples need boundaries? The universal answer: Yes. I started taking online emotional intelligence courses, studying the science of marriage, and how to manage a modern relationship. Dean said I wasn’t accommodating him, so I reined in my temper and focused on being his supportive partner. I’d gently ask if he was stressed at work or facing any challenges. I hoped he’d open up. I was ready to be his confidante. But every time, he’d respond with, “It’s work stuff. You wouldn’t understand.” He grew increasingly impatient, while my temperament grew steadily calmer. I even learned to cook. Following the advice of the gurus, I worked on the principle that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. To save our relationship, I immediately quit my high-powered, demanding job, determined to be his perfect homemaker and supportive wife. For a while, Dean seemed to warm up again. Our relationship appeared to shift back to how it used to be. I was convinced my choices were correct. Until I found a small emerald earring tucked into the lining of his overnight bag. It sparked the most explosive fight we’d ever had. I screamed, demanding to know why there was a woman’s earring in his luggage. “You want a divorce because you’re cheating on me, don’t you?” I was hysterical. Dean’s voice was louder than mine, full of a raging defensiveness that made him look like the victim. “I work myself to the bone to provide for this family! And you’re accusing me of cheating because of an earring?! That’s disgusting, Avery!” His righteous fury was so overwhelming that the red-hot anger draining out of me was replaced by a cold dread. Right in front of me, he called his subordinate. “Savannah!! Why was an earring in my suitcase! You need to explain this to my wife right now!!” Savannah was Dean’s assistant. She’d been at the company for two years. Everyone knew Savannah had a handsome fiancé, Wyatt, and that they were getting married soon. Wyatt was a partner at one of Dean’s major client firms. Because of that existing relationship, Dean often took Savannah on business trips. No one, including me, had ever suspected a thing. It was perfectly normal for Dean to look out for his assistant, especially since she was part of the client network. Savannah and Wyatt came over that evening. “Oh my God, I am so, so sorry, Avery,” Savannah gushed, a picture of distress. “It’s my earring. I must have dropped it when I was helping Dean pack for his last trip. I am truly mortified that I caused this misunderstanding!” Wyatt quickly backed her up. “My fiancée was just complaining about losing the earring this afternoon. I immediately ordered her a replacement. Mrs. Harrison, I can show you the order confirmation right here.” The date on the order was indeed before Dean and I had our fight. I was mortified, completely at a loss for words. I glanced at Dean. Dean flipped the coffee table over. “This is ridiculous! You need to take a long, hard look at yourself, Avery!” He stormed out of the apartment. Wyatt rushed after him. “Dean, man, slow down! Don’t take this out on Avery. It was Savannah’s mistake. Let me buy you a drink. I apologize for her.” I didn’t see the flicker of smug satisfaction in Savannah’s eyes then. I only felt like a foolish puppet she’d manipulated. “I am so embarrassed,” I mumbled, apologizing to her. “I’m so sensitive.” I barely registered the faint note of mockery in her voice. “That’s what happens to wives, Avery. You focus all your energy on your husband, and you start overthinking everything.” “It’s normal to worry, though,” she added with a saccharine smile. “Dean is so exceptional.” Maybe I did hear the taunt. But feeling guilty, I just offered a sheepish smile. After that, the evidence kept piling up. Lipstick on Dean’s shirts, long strands of hair on his jacket, a lip balm, a bracelet, or a necklace left in his car. But I never screamed again. I was terrified of being wrong, of causing another ‘misunderstanding.’ Each time, Dean’s expression would be mild, almost bored. “A client got drunk, Avery. She hugged me and insisted I was her long-lost brother. That’s how the lipstick got on my collar.” “The car is always full of coworkers and clients. Someone must have accidentally left it. I’ll check at the office tomorrow.” I believed him every time. But I would spend the nights spinning, the quiet hours filled with suspicion and dread. I started having intense insomnia and slipped into a deep depression. I went to a psychiatrist and began taking medication. Until, finally, under the mattress of our bed, I found a black lace thong. 3 It was hidden deftly—a subtle black corner peeking out from under the white cotton edge of the mattress. This time, I didn’t scream. I didn’t explode. Even an idiot would know: he was cheating. And the other woman was a regular in our home. I waited until Dean was in the shower and immediately grabbed his phone. The password was no longer my birthday, his birthday, or our anniversary. I tried three times. One more wrong attempt, and the screen would lock. I remembered something. When we hired Savannah, Dean hesitated because her resume wasn’t strong enough. He’d talked it over with me, and I distinctly remembered her file. I remembered her birthday was Christmas Eve. I’d commented, “A Christmas Eve baby, that’s so festive.” On a chilling hunch, I typed in Savannah’s birthday. Success. The phone unlocked. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My heart hammered, trying to break free from my ribcage. From that day on, I checked the chat logs every time Dean went into the shower. At first, my heart would constrict, the pain so intense that my hands would shake. Eventually, I reached a state of cold, detached numbness. I started reading their long, dramatic conversations while casually munching on chips. I used Dean’s account to forward all their chat history to my own phone, then meticulously deleted the forwarded messages from his sent folder. They texted all day, every day. Dean even updated her when he was in the bathroom. Dean: Getting paid to poop. Savannah would instantly send back a funny GIF of a cartoon duck on a toilet with another duck cheering it on. It was annoyingly cute. Savannah: Dean, if I break up with Wyatt, will you divorce Avery? Dean: Of course, I will. We barely have a relationship anymore. I asked her for a divorce a year ago. She didn’t agree. Instead, she quit her job to become my full-time homemaker and even toned down her diva attitude. Dean: We were a college romance. She had plenty of rich guys chasing her, but she picked me, a poor student. She refused a dowry and brought property and money into the marriage. My job at the company? That came through her father’s connections. I owe her everything. Savannah: Dean, have you ever considered that her ‘diva attitude’ is why none of those rich guys would stick around? She picked you because you were her ceiling. If someone else had your career potential and could tolerate her better, would she have ever looked at you? Dean fell silent. After a long pause, he replied: My mother said the same thing. She thinks Avery’s family only wanted me because I was a ‘safe investment’ and that rich kids are too spoiled and run through their money. I had read every text between Dean and Savannah since she joined the company. Dean hadn’t deleted the records, secure in his arrogance that I would never look. I briefly considered sending the entire history to Wyatt, but I stopped myself. If I exposed Savannah now, the issue would be public, but Wyatt might forgive her. Savannah’s constant digs at me suggested Wyatt already knew something and had likely chosen to overlook it. Being truly adored gives a person a kind of impunity. Then, Savannah messaged Dean: Babe, I think I left your favorite pair of my panties at your place. Dean sent a string of panic emojis: Are you serious?! Don’t mess with me! Dean searched frantically: They’re not here! Look under the mattress. It would be bad if your wife found them, right? Dean flipped the entire mattress but still couldn’t find them. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe they’re not lost. Dean: Babe!! Be careful next time! I’d been reading their texts for almost half a year. The intensity of their whole ‘star-crossed lovers’ thing was so over-the-top, it was almost comical. Now, Dean’s demand for a divorce at my best friend’s wedding was a clear declaration of his resolve. He had made his choice. As everyone rushed to advise him to calm down, and urged me to apologize and save my marriage, I let out a sharp, unexpected laugh. “What’s wrong, Dean? Did your girlfriend dump you?”

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The day before my best friend Sierra Rhodes’ wedding, I was kicked out of the bridal party group chat. “We’re full up on bridesmaids, and with your recent breakup, you’re too much of a bad luck charm. Best you sit this one out, sweetie.” I stared at the message, then at the six-figure contract I’d personally fronted for her bespoke, over-the-top dream wedding, and a laugh bubbled up—a cold, sharp thing. I had spent the better part of a year pulling strings and calling in every favor I had for her. And this was my reward: being called a “bad luck charm.” She seemed to have completely forgotten that I was the true general contractor and silent financial backer of this entire event. The celebrity caterers, the platinum-tier MC, the vintage Rolls-Royce motorcade—all of them had signed contracts with my name on the line, doing me and my father a professional courtesy. I was the legal contact, the on-site director, and the one who had paid all the deposits. This entire wedding, from conception to execution, was inextricably linked to me, not to her, the bride. I didn’t panic. I didn’t rage. Instead, I quietly took screenshots of every remaining contract—the final payment terms for the catering, photography, and the car service—and dropped them into our wider circle group chat. An hour later, over a dozen vendors announced a service suspension for the next day, citing a complete inability to contact the new “Head of Client Relations.” That night, she showed up on my doorstep in her custom-made silk robe, weeping, begging me to make the wedding continue. 1 It was close to eleven P.M. when my phone screen flashed violently on the nightstand. I picked it up and saw a gray system notification—a stark, icy block of text staring back at me. “You have been removed by group admin ‘Sierra Rhodes’ from the chat ‘The Phoenix Brigade.’” I stared at the line of text, my mind a complete blank for a few suspended seconds. This was the core bridal party group. Tomorrow was her huge, high-society wedding. I tapped the chat, and the app confirmed: “You are no longer a member of this group.” Immediately, my friend Lexi Shaw’s private messages started flooding in. A cascade of stunned question marks hit my screen. “???????????????” “Aubrey Miller! What the hell is going on? Am I seeing this right?” “Sierra just kicked you—the Maid of Honor—out? The day before the wedding?” I took a deep, shaky breath. My chest was tight, and my fingers trembled slightly as I typed. I replied to Lexi: “It’s real. Just happened.” Lexi’s voice call popped up instantly. I hit “Decline.” I didn’t want to talk, not a single word. Her voice message followed, her tone high-pitched with outrage, impossible to contain. “Is she insane, Aubrey! This isn’t even using you up and throwing you away—it’s warp speed betrayal!” “No! I’m going into the group now! She can’t just kick you out! She has to explain this!” I typed a reply, calm despite the internal chaos, each word feeling like it cost me a piece of my soul. “Lexi, don’t. It won’t help.” Lexi couldn’t process it. “Why? You’re just going to take this massive insult?” “She kicked me out because she wants to cut off communication.” “She chose the night before the wedding because she knew I’d have no time to react.” “This wasn’t a mistake. This was premeditated.” Silence on Lexi’s end. A minute later, she sent a screenshot. It was the bridal party chat, showing a new announcement Sierra had posted. “@Everyone, Little change of plans, girls, sorry!” “Ethan’s cousin absolutely insisted on being a bridesmaid, and with family pressure, I couldn’t say no.” “The spots are full. And well, you all know Aubrey just went through that breakup, and her vibe is a little… off right now.” “A wedding is a joyous occasion. I didn’t want her to feel worse or bring any bad juju, so I just told her to rest up, okay?” “See you all at the hotel tomorrow. Love you all!” Below the announcement, a few other bridesmaids had already chimed in: “Got it!” and “So thoughtful of you, Sierra!” Lexi’s next voice message was shaking with pure fury. “Aubrey, did you see that? She replaced you with her future husband’s cousin! And she called you bad luck for being newly single! How dare she say that after everything you’ve done?” “Every single detail of this wedding—whose hands built it? Whose money paid the deposits?” “You fronted over fifty thousand dollars for the planning alone! She hasn’t paid you back a penny!” “She used you for your connections, squeezed you dry, and is now kicking you to the curb without even bothering to come up with a decent lie!” The words Lexi sent buzzed in my head. For her “Gilded Age Grandeur” themed wedding, I had spent half a year of my life and burned through every favor I owed. The archival-quality Ming Dynasty-inspired gown she had to have? I pulled strings with a museum curator friend. The fleet of vintage Hongqi cars? I had my father leverage his exclusive business association connections to secure them. The top-tier wedding planning firm, The Imperial Events Collective? I used a personal favor with the CEO just to skip the waitlist. Now, the wedding was ready. The curtain was about to rise. And I, the orchestrator, was tossed aside for being “newly single” and a “bad luck charm.” I saved the screenshot of the ice-cold system notification and the one of Sierra’s sickeningly false public announcement. Then, I tossed my phone aside and buried my face in my pillow. 2 Lexi’s voice messages continued to ping, her anger a hotter flame than my own. “I can’t let this stand! Aubrey, you’re seriously going to let her get away with this?” “She’s doing this because you’re hurting and she thinks you’re an easy target!” “After all you sacrificed for her, she isn’t just ungrateful, she’s actively stepping on you!” “You have to confront her! You can’t let her walk down the aisle in peace!” I reached out from under the comforter, found my phone, and leaned against the headboard. The initial shock and raw sting had subsided, replaced by a deep, bone-chilling calm. I typed my reply to Lexi: “She removed me so I couldn’t confront her.” “If I call her now, she’ll hide behind that fake ‘I was just looking out for you’ narrative.” “Showing up and making a scene will only make me look like a hysterical joke and give her exactly what she wants.” Lexi was frustrated. “Then what? Just let her win? The thought of her getting her happy ending makes me sick!” I stared at the dim light on the ceiling, a slight, humorless smile touching my lips. “Lexi, we are absolutely not letting this go.” Lexi replied instantly: “Okay, what’s the plan? Tell me! I’m in!” I didn’t reply. I didn’t call Sierra to demand an explanation, and I didn’t reach out to her fiancé, Ethan Blackwood, to cry about my hurt feelings. I simply opened my laptop and found the dedicated folder I had created for her wedding. Inside was the culmination of six months of meticulous work. Contracts for over a dozen vendors: planning, photography, the designer gown, the vintage motorcade, the venue… Every single one listed my name and my contact information as the primary client representative. Every contract had the final payment date clearly stamped: The day before the wedding. That is, tonight. I had paid over fifty thousand dollars in deposits, and the remaining balance—just over a hundred thousand dollars—was stipulated in the contracts to be settled by the couple on the eve of the event. I took crystal-clear screenshots of the most critical page of each contract: the Client Representative and the Payment Clause. Then, I opened a group chat called “The Inner Circle.” This was the main chat for our entire social group—hundreds of our closest friends and acquaintances. Crucially, the groom, Ethan Blackwood, and his mother, Linnea, were prominent members of this group. One by one, I sent the dozen-plus contract screenshots. Slowly. Deliberately. After the final screenshot, I typed a caption, my words cool and utterly detached. “Good evening, everyone. Apologies for the interruption. Regarding Sierra Rhodes and Ethan Blackwood’s wedding scheduled for tomorrow: The above are the contracts for all vendors I was managing as the lead coordinator.” “To date, I have personally paid the deposits totaling $50,888. All outstanding final balances were due tonight by 10 P.M.” “I’ve just been informed by the bride that I am no longer involved in any wedding arrangements. Could the new coordinator please contact the vendors immediately to avoid any disruption tomorrow?” “@SierraRhodes @EthanBlackwood. Wishing you both a wonderful wedding.” After sending the message, I muted the chat. A year ago, Sierra had cried to me that her biggest dream was an extravagant, buzz-worthy wedding. She said Ethan’s family had the money but didn’t want to be too ostentatious. It was me, her “best friend,” who had taken the entire burden on. I’d told her: “Don’t worry about the money or the connections. I’ll handle it. You just focus on being the most beautiful bride.” Now, she was about to be the most beautiful bride. And I was the “bad luck charm” she had discarded. Lexi’s private message was instantaneous: “AUBREY! You posted it in the main group?! You absolute legend!” “I saw it! The chat just exploded! Ethan’s mom’s face must be white as a ghost right now!” Lexi added: “My guess is his mother, Linnea, was the one who hated that you were recently single and thought you were bad luck. Sierra threw you under the bus to score points with her in-laws!” “That woman will do anything to marry into that family!” I smiled slightly, not replying. Sierra’s good fortune was about to take a sharp turn. I closed my eyes, pulled the covers up, and went to sleep. 3 The next morning, I woke to a barrage of urgent phone calls from unknown numbers. I ignored the first few. But one kept calling relentlessly. I finally answered, staying silent. A panicked male voice came through the speaker: “Hello? Is this Ms. Miller? It’s Derek Kim from The Imperial Events Collective!” I gave a simple, flat “Yes.” Mr. Kim sounded on the verge of tears. “Ms. Miller, what in the world is going on? Our entire team is waiting at the venue, and we can’t get hold of the bride or groom!” “After your message last night, we called Mr. Blackwood. He said he’d handle it, but now he’s not answering!” “The final contract balance—thirty-eight thousand dollars—is still unpaid! We can’t set up the ballroom! Is this wedding still happening?” My tone was perfectly calm. “Mr. Kim, I am no longer the coordinator. You need to contact the couple directly.” “But we can’t! They’re not answering calls or texts! Ms. Miller, we took this job as a personal favor to you! You can’t just walk away!” I cut him off. “I apologize, Mr. Kim. I’m just an uninvolved guest now.” “The contract clearly states that the final payment is the responsibility of the couple. If they are in breach, you need to follow your legal protocol.” I hung up. The second and third calls immediately followed. “Hello? Ms. Miller? It’s Leo from the photo team! We’re supposed to start the getting-ready shots at five! We don’t even know which suite the bride is in!” “Aubrey! It’s Frank from the car team! Those vintage Rolls-Royces your dad secured—the drivers are waiting! We haven’t been paid the final sixteen thousand, and we can’t start the engines!” “Ms. Miller…” I declined every call, one after the other, and finally set my phone to reject all unknown numbers. Lexi was sending me a live-feed “broadcast” from The Inner Circle chat. The group was in utter chaos. Mr. Kim posted an all-caps message, tagging the couple. “@EthanBlackwood @SierraRhodes. Is the wedding proceeding today? Our staff and equipment are waiting outside the venue. We will be forced to pull out and leave the premises in thirty minutes!” Leo, the photographer, was equally frantic: “@SierraRhodes! Bride! If you don’t appear, your morning robe, first look, and leaving-the-suite photos will all be canceled!” Frank, the car team leader, was blunt: “@EthanBlackwood, Mr. Blackwood, when will the final payment be settled? If we miss the designated start time, who is accountable for the liability?” A dozen vendors were blowing up the chat. Sierra and Ethan, however, had completely vanished, not a single word of response. The friends and relatives in the chat were completely bewildered. “What is going on? The couple can’t be reached on their wedding day?” “Aubrey’s contracts show over a hundred thousand is unpaid? I thought the Blackwoods were rolling in cash!” “I heard Aubrey was kicked out of the bridal party, and she’s not coordinating anymore.” “Why would they kick out the one person running the show? That’s insane!” Finally, Ethan’s mother, Linnea Blackwood—the woman I called Auntie Lin—chimed in. She posted an overly cheerful, awkward emoji. “Oh, don’t worry, everyone! The kids are just being young and had a little spat last night. Their phones must be off!” “The money is absolutely not an issue! I’m heading to the venue now to sort it out! Please, everyone just wait a few minutes!” She thought she could solve everything just by showing up. She thought that simply throwing money at the problem would reset everything. Lexi messaged me: “Aubrey, Ethan’s mom is trying to spin this. She’s trying to save face.” I replied with two words: “Delusional.” The heart of this wedding was never the money. It was me. It was all the favors, relationships, and trust I had leveraged. Mr. Kim replied to Linnea immediately in the group chat: “Mrs. Blackwood, with all due respect, the money is secondary. Our team only recognizes Ms. Miller as the lead client. All logistics, details, and design specifications were negotiated directly with her.” “We cannot guarantee the final result with an impromptu change in leadership. We will not be liable for any issues that arise!” Leo backed him up: “Exactly! We follow Ms. Miller’s direction. She knew every key moment and shot list!” Frank was even more direct: “Mrs. Blackwood, those vintage cars were secured based on a personal favor to Mr. Miller. Now that Ms. Miller has stepped away, our drivers are refusing to proceed. They don’t want the risk.” Linnea was completely blindsided, and then, immediately enraged. “It’s just money! Just do the job! I’ll make sure you are all paid handsomely!”

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I’m an artifact restorer. I had just finished my final painstaking repair on the House of Blackwood’s Dynastic Jade Bangle, a piece from the Tang Dynasty valued at over two hundred million dollars. My fiancé’s long-term “charity case,” Piper Finch, swooped in and snatched it. “Anya, can I just touch it? Please?” she cooed. Before I could answer, she slipped the massive bangle onto her wrist. “Oh, I love this so much! You should just give it to me!” She leaned in, her voice conspiratorial. “You could make a fake for the client—they’d never know. Pretty please?” I patiently explained that asking me to commit a felony was, in fact, a felony. The next second, the jade hit the concrete floor of my studio, shattering into irreparable fragments. Piper looked down, gave a tiny, remorseful pout, and stuck out her tongue. “Oopsie, I’m so clumsy! I’m such a big dummy.” She lifted her eyes, blinking innocently. “But it’s okay, right? You’re the best, Anya. I know you can fix it.” She strolled away, leaving me to face a two-hundred-million-dollar loss that would bankrupt me. My fiancé, Grant Sawyer, didn’t blame her. “It’s your fault for not guarding it better. Why take it out on Piper? We can always earn the money back. Don’t make Piper upset.” Piper giggled, flashing a peace sign. “I won’t be upset! Just take me out for hot pot! If one meal doesn’t fix it, two will!” The sheer audacity of it all was enough to trigger my heart condition. I reached for my medicine, only to discover the pills had been replaced with effervescent Vitamin C tablets. As I was being loaded into the ambulance, I saw Piper pouting in Grant’s arms. “Anya is always so moody. I just wanted to give her a vitamin boost and help her skin glow.” I opened my eyes and found myself back in my studio, the very moment I had finished the restoration. 1 Piper was holding the bangle, her eyes greedy. “Anya, you should just give it to me. You could make a fake for the client…” Before the words “a fake for the client” left her lips, I snatched the bangle back. I slammed the vault door shut and twisted the combination lock with a decisive, echoing click. “Absolutely not.” She looked stunned, tilting her head like a confused puppy. “If not, then… why not?” I didn’t bother with excuses. I pointed a rigid finger at the door. “Piper Finch, grab your cheap canvas tote and get out. You’re fired.” She blinked slowly. “Huh? I don’t understand. What do you mean?” I inhaled deeply, nodding to my assistant, Sam, to guard the vault. Then, I unceremoniously shoved Piper toward the exit. “You’re done!” She stiffened, clawing at the doorframe. “Grant told me to intern here! It’s only been half a day! How am I supposed to learn if you send me away?” Smack! I drove my open palm across her cheek. “You asked me to give you a client’s priceless artifact and then commit fraud by creating a forgery! You are unethical, legally delinquent, and morally corrupt. You don’t belong in my studio—not as a restorer, not as a janitor!” She clutched her red cheek, her lips trembling in a wounded pout. “I was just joking! I didn’t actually want it. What exactly did I do wrong?” I gave her a humorless smile and began dragging her toward the main exit. “I was wrong! My little empire can’t contain a grand mess like you!” “Security! Escort Miss Finch off the premises immediately. She is permanently banned from the building!” Watching the security guards physically haul Piper away, I finally let out a shaky breath. Grant had been funding Piper since she was seventeen. When she graduated, he insisted she intern with me. She was a History major, a good fit on paper, so I relented. Who would have thought that half a day with her would cost me everything, including my life? The memory of choking on those Vitamin C fizzies as my chest crushed in the last timeline sent a familiar, terrifying ache through me. I fumbled for my backup medication and swallowed a pill immediately. This time, the bangle was safe, and Piper was gone. I just needed to survive the next few hours until the two o’clock handover. I leaned back in my chair, hoping for a moment of peace, but Sam burst back into the room. “Anya! The Dynastic Bangle! It’s shattered!” I sprang up. “What? How!?” Sam stammered, twisting his hands. “It was Mr. Sawyer. He—he brought Piper back. And then he opened the vault himself.” The air rushed out of my lungs. The vault combination—only Grant and I knew it. Only Grant. My fiancé, the one person I thought I could trust, was the variable I hadn’t controlled. I threw open the repair lab door. The sight before me sent a bone-deep chill through my soul. Piper was humming a tuneless melody, attempting to ‘re-bond’ the hundreds of jade shards with a tube of Super Glue. “I only wanted to wear it for a minute to feel the energy of a thousand years,” she whined. “I don’t know why it just slipped off.” “Grant,” she looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, “Am I really that useless? I mess up everything.” Grant, my fiancé, was stroking her hair. His voice was devastatingly soft. “No one is going to blame you, Pip. It was just a slippery piece of jewelry.” “Now, stop crying.” But Piper’s sobs intensified. “Anya will be even angrier! She fired me this morning just because I wanted to touch it! I have to fix it before she comes back. Come on, Piper, you can do this!” Grant playfully flicked her nose. “It’s nothing. Your Grant will handle her.” I grabbed the nearest object—a heavy ceramic water cup—and hurled it straight at Grant’s face. “It’s nothing?! A thousand-year-old artifact is destroyed, and you’re still defending her and threatening me?” Grant wiped the water from his face, his expression ugly. “Anya, that’s enough! It’s just a broken piece of jewelry. Piper is trying to fix it! Besides, she’s crying! What more do you want?” She’s crying? So her tears are worth two hundred million dollars? Worth my life? I smiled, pulling out my phone. “Fine. I’ll call the police. Piper illegally entered my studio and destroyed a client’s property. We’ll let the law decide.” Grant slammed his hand down, knocking the phone from my grip. “I won’t let you do that! You want her to have a criminal record? To ruin her life forever?” “Anya, be the bigger person! If everyone were as petty as you, the world would fall apart!” Rage surged through me. I lunged to slap him, but he caught my wrist in an iron grip. “You’re just looking for money, aren’t you? Fine! I’ll pay for it!” I stared at him, my teeth grinding. He thought money would solve this? He was a mid-level corporate drone—how could he pay for it? In the last timeline, I had liquidated my studio, borrowed from every friend and relative, and nearly killed myself to come up with the two hundred million. He, meanwhile, had sent me a text. He’d sent me five hundred dollars. Not five thousand, not five million. Five hundred. He’d said, “Baby, I need to save my money to build our home, so you won’t have to suffer later.” He didn’t want me to suffer? He was sending Piper two thousand a month for spending money, but our five-year relationship was only worth five hundred? When I was dying in the ambulance, he was comforting Piper. He hadn’t even looked at me. Now, he was willing to sacrifice everything for her. Fine. I would grant his wish. “We’re done, Grant. I will not be your co-debtor in this disaster. The engagement is over.” Grant’s eyes widened. “Break up? Over a compensation fee?” “A fee?” I laughed, a sharp, disbelieving sound, and was about to state the magnitude of the debt when Piper rushed over, presenting the glob of Super Glue and shattered jade. “Anya, look! I fixed it!” “Artifact restoration isn’t hard at all, you know! Took me a few minutes.” She winked triumphantly at Grant. “Grant, am I talented or what?” Grant chuckled, his expression melting into adoration. “You’re the best, Pip.” Fueled by his praise, Piper pulled out her phone and started a Live on her preferred app. She shoved the glue-soaked bangle right up to the camera. “Trust me, you guys! Artifact restoration sounds all high-brow, but you can basically run the game with a tube of Krazy Glue!” “Look at this hot, fresh, thousand-year-old bangle I just fixed. Self-taught, one-shot success, y’all.” The comments section immediately exploded. [Someone call the police!] [She has to be trolling!] The view count skyrocketed into the tens of thousands within minutes. Grant shot me a cold look and immediately started tossing virtual gifts—ten of the most expensive “Carnivals”—into the live stream. “I’ve always got your back, Pip,” he typed. Sam, my assistant, looked faint, frantically refreshing the live stream. “Anya, this is bad. It’s trending. What if he sees it? Should we make her shut it down?” I shook my head. “It’s too late.” The bangle was a Blackwood family heirloom, treated as the dynasty’s lifeblood. The Blackwoods were an international conglomerate, the ultimate gatekeepers of the collectibles world. I had waived my restoration fee to secure a favor from them, a critical networking move. In the last timeline, after Piper broke it, I had groveled to Mr. Blackwood, and had even been held at gunpoint. It was only out of the thin thread of respect for my skill that he agreed to settle the matter for two hundred million. But getting on the Blackwood’s bad side meant more than just money. My phone rang. Seeing the caller ID, I answered, my voice deferential. “Hello, Mr. Blackwood.” “Anya,” his voice was unsettlingly calm. “I see my bangle on the internet. What is this ‘Genius Restoration Beauty Brings Thousand-Year Artifact to Live Stream’ nonsense? What is going on?” Cold sweat beaded on my palm. “Mr. Blackwood, I…” Before I could finish, Piper grabbed the phone. “Hi, Grandpa Blackwood! I’m Piper, the genius restorer!” “I’m the one who fixed your bangle, not Anya. She didn’t help at all.” Mr. Blackwood’s tone was impossible to read. “Oh? You call that… fixed?” Piper nodded excitedly. “Yes! Why wouldn’t it be fixed? I worked so, so hard to glue it back together for you, Grandpa Blackwood!” A long silence followed on the line. “Anya, two o’clock this afternoon. I want to see the bangle, perfectly intact. Otherwise… you know the consequences.” Before I could reply, Piper chirped, “Don’t worry, Grandpa Blackwood! I’ll personally deliver it for you!” The line went dead. Piper wrapped her arms around Grant and spun around happily, then tossed her hair dismissively. “See, Anya? You worry too much! Grandpa Blackwood is so sweet. We don’t have to pay a thing!” I was beyond words. I simply turned to Sam. “Sam, tell the staff to clock out early. Miss Finch will be personally delivering the bangle to the Blackwood Estate.” Sam exhaled deeply, clutching his chest in relief. I packed my things and headed for my car. Grant and Piper immediately slid into the back seat. “Drive us to the Blackwood Estate.” His tone was a demand. I laughed, a tight, unpleasant sound. “Why would I?” Grant narrowed his eyes, studying me. “Mr. Blackwood demanded you be there for the handover. You need to be present.” He paused, a flicker of genuine anxiety crossing his face. “What exactly are the consequences he mentioned? Is Piper in danger?” I had occasionally mentioned Mr. Blackwood’s reputation. At least some of it had registered with him. My voice was deliberately playful. “What do you think?” Grant bristled. “Anya! Piper’s safety is at stake! Can’t you just answer the question?” Watching the vein pulse in his temple, I smiled. Mr. Blackwood’s word could launch a career or obliterate a life. Piper thought he was sweet? Well, he only lightly chastised his own grandson for destroying an antique. For outsiders, the fate was often a lot worse. I waited a moment, deciding to give them one last chance to save themselves. “Maybe we should still call the police.” With the police involved, the Blackwoods would at least show some restraint. “Why would we call the police?” Piper’s eyes were wide. “The bangle is fixed, and Grandpa Blackwood accepted it.” “Anya, you keep saying ‘call the police’—are you hoping I’ll go to jail?” A look of sudden, manufactured clarity crossed her face. “I get it! You’re jealous because Grant is nice to me, so you want me to die in prison, right? That way, Grant will be all yours!” She turned to Grant, forcing a heartbreakingly ugly smile. “It’s okay, Grant. If I have to die, I will. But promise me—in the next life, you’ll find me before my alcoholic father kills me. Promise you’ll keep taking care of me.” Grant’s hands clenched into fists, his eyes bloodshot. “Anya!” He raised his hand and brought it down hard across my face. “If you touch a single hair on her head, I will kill you!” The blow was vicious. My cheek stung, and I tasted blood on my lip. I licked my mouth, then, without hesitation, spun and delivered an equally brutal slap to Piper’s face. “A mark on her skin, a wrench in your heart, Grant. Fair trade.” Piper froze, then dissolved into hysterical, gut-wrenching sobs in Grant’s arms. “Grant, why does Anya always bully me?” Grant’s eyes flashed with pure hatred. He raised his hand to strike me again. I held his gaze, not flinching. His eyes were filled with disgust and loathing, devoid of any of the love he’d once sworn. Yet, he was the one who had pursued me relentlessly for two years, kneeling and weeping for me to agree to marry him. When had his vision become so completely consumed by Piper? Seeing my face, pale and swollen, his hand froze in mid-air. “Is it your heart?” “Don’t just stand there! Take your medication!” My hands trembled as I reached for my emergency bottle in the car door, but only fizzing tablets spilled out. The sudden, terrifying sense of suffocation returned. Piper had dawdled that morning, making excuses to stay in the car. That was when she’d swapped my emergency supply. Not only had she swapped the pills in my apartment, but now she was trying to eliminate my final fail-safe. Was I doomed to die by her hand again? Seeing me immobile, Grant frantically urged me. “Anya! Take them! Why aren’t you taking them?” Piper threw her hands over her head. “Oh no! I didn’t know Anya had a heart condition! I thought they were just Vitamin C! I thought the fizzies would be sweeter and taste better, so I… I swapped them.” “Grant, did I do something wrong again? Why am I always so stupid?” Grant shook his head, his tone still gentle. “It’s okay, Pip. It wasn’t your fault. You were trying to be kind.” He was telling me it was okay that I was dying because of her? Did he truly believe that Piper could commit murder and still be nothing more than innocently clumsy? The scene was a chilling echo of my death in the previous timeline. Desperately, I fumbled for my phone to call 911, but instead, my fingers brushed against a small, hard object in my jacket pocket—the pill I had swallowed earlier. I retrieved the single tablet and swallowed it dry. The suffocating pressure in my chest finally began to recede. Grant let out a huge sigh of relief. “Anya, you need to keep track of your own medication. You really scared me.”

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I grew up bouncing between continents. My mother, Vivian, terrified I’d bring home a bohemian artist or, God forbid, someone who didn’t understand the rules of the Metropolitan Elite, settled the matter herself. She’d found me a fiancé—a man of status and impeccable pedigree—and demanded I return to Manhattan’s high society for the engagement. I was at a flagship boutique on Fifth Avenue, looking for an engagement dress. I spotted a stunning ivory silk bustier gown. Just as I reached for it, preparing to try it on, a woman nearby glanced at the dress in my hand. “That style is actually rather chic,” she announced to the attendant. “Bring it over. I want to try it.” The attendant, without a word, snatched the gown rudely out of my grasp. “Excuse me?” I said, bristling. “There’s a clear first-come, first-served rule here. I had it first. Do you people have any sense of decency?” She looked me up and down with utter contempt. “That dress is worth twenty-five thousand dollars. Could a pauper like you even afford the sales tax?” She tossed her perfectly coiled hair. “I’m Savannah Reed, the Devlin Group CEO Brooks Devlin’s Ward. In this city, the only ‘decency’ that matters is what the Devlin family decides it is.” Well, wasn’t that convenient? Brooks Devlin was the man I was supposed to marry. I immediately pulled out my phone and called him. “Your Ward just stole my engagement dress. How exactly do you intend to handle this?” 1 The word “Ward,” when she said it, always sounded less like a relative and more like an indiscretion wrapped in an expensive label. If Brooks couldn’t offer a solid, respectable explanation for this whole mess, our engagement was clearly off. But to my surprise, Brooks’s voice on the other end was frigid. “Who is this? And since when do you, an outsider, get to weigh in on my relationship with Savannah?” I was about to snap that I was his fiancée when he simply hung up. My jaw dropped. The nerve. Not only did he allow his “Ward” to harass me, but he hadn’t even bothered to save my number. Savannah, watching the whole exchange, dissolved into delighted laughter. “Bitch! Did you really think getting ahold of Brooks’s number meant you could hitch your wagon to the Devlin star? Dream on.” Her eyes raked over my simple, comfortable outfit. “Even the janitors at the Devlin Group wear pricier things than that.” I’d always prioritized comfort and simplicity over designer labels. It had never occurred to me that one day, my outfit would be used as a weapon against me. “It’s the 21st century, and you’re still pulling the ‘judge-a-book-by-its-cover’ routine,” I shot back. “Brooks must be blind to keep a judgmental waste of space like you around.” The argument had thoroughly killed my interest in the dress. I took it from the sales rack, intending to buy it immediately. The counter clerk looked hesitant. “Ma’am, our store gives priority to our Black Diamond Tier members.” Savannah’s smile widened smugly. She pulled a gleaming, invitation-only card from her clutch and slammed it onto the glass counter. “A million-dollar deposit to even apply for this tier. What are you waiting for, you poor trash?” I am generally not a confrontational person. But Savannah Reed had succeeded in unleashing my fury. I retrieved my sleek, unmarked Centurion Card and handed it to the clerk, keeping my voice level despite the adrenaline rush. “Enroll me. Max membership. And then package this dress for me.” Savannah leaned in, her voice a low threat to the clerk. “Manhattan belongs to the Devlins. If you sell that dress to her, my Brooks will buy this entire boutique tomorrow and have you all fired.” The clerk recoiled slightly. “I’m just an employee, ma’am. I truly cannot afford to cross the Devlin Group.” The crowd that had gathered began whispering. “I’ve seen Miss Reed a few times. Mr. Devlin is completely obsessed with her.” “Someone crossed her last year and was ruined. Bankrupted.” “Even if she has some money, it’s nothing compared to the Devlin empire. Just apologize, sweetie. Beg her to let you go.” Savannah was preening, her head tilted back, soaking up the validation. “Bitch, get down on your knees. Shout ‘I am a pathetic phony and I was wrong’ three times. Maybe then I’ll consider granting you mercy.” Twenty-six years on this earth, and this was the first time someone had dared to be this arrogantly insolent in front of me. “Say that again,” I prompted, a slow smile touching my lips. “What am I supposed to shout?” “Are you deaf? ‘I am a pathetic phony and I was wrong!’ Can’t you hear those words?” I allowed the smile to turn into a full, cold smirk. “I heard you perfectly. Since you already know you’re a pathetic phony, why don’t you just get lost and stop cluttering up my sightline?” The realization hit Savannah instantly. She had been played. She shrieked, windmilling her arms as she rushed toward me. It was laughable. She was a stage-four amateur. I’m a black belt. I delivered a clean, hard side-kick. Savannah crumpled to the marble floor, shrieking. A collective gasp went up from the onlookers. “Oh my God! How could she do that to Miss Reed?” “If Mr. Devlin hears about this, he’ll have her shredded.” “The Lord himself couldn’t save her now.” Their panic didn’t move me. The Devlin family’s entire standing in this city was, as I knew, indirectly dependent on my mother. There was no one here I needed to fear. I slapped my card back on the counter. “Checkout. Now.” The clerk was trembling, but she processed the payment, bagged the gown, and handed it to me. I picked up the dress and turned to leave. But Savannah, scrambling back up, blocked my way again. “You can’t just walk away!” I raised my hand and wiggled my fingers in front of her face. “Want to test my hands again?” She flinched back instantly. I scoffed and stepped toward the exit. Just then, a sleek, black Bentley pulled up outside. The first thing that hit the Fifth Avenue sidewalk was a custom, thin-soled leather loafer—Bottega, probably. That’s when the relief hit, a physical gasp in my chest. I followed the line of the leg up, feeling a sudden rush of anticipation. He was easily six-foot-three, broad-shouldered, and lean. And the face. Chiseled, perfect angles. A 360-degree knockout. Savannah immediately dissolved into theatrics, running over to cling to his arm. “Brooksie! She took the dress I wanted and she kicked me!” So, this was my fiancé. I am, admittedly, a sucker for a beautiful face. Brooks Devlin’s looks were exactly the kind of jawline-and-smoldering-eyes that made my pulse jump. For this face, I could almost forgive his earlier rudeness. I offered what I thought was my most charming smile. “Hello. I’m Audrey Bellwether. Your fiancée.” No wonder Mom was so confident I’d approve. She really did know me too well. The onlookers gasped again. “What?! She’s the Devlin CEO’s fiancée?” “A fiancée beats a Ward, right? No wonder she’s so confident.” “Maybe. It depends on who he favors more.” Brooks’s gaze landed on me, and his voice was cold, dismissive. “Don’t flatter yourself. That contract was forced by my father. I never agreed to it.” Savannah draped herself intimately over his shoulder, her eyes burning with pure triumph. “Look at you. You’re such an ugly duckling. Brooks would never marry you.” Someone in the crowd chimed in. “Exactly! Mr. Devlin is going to marry an actual society princess. Not this peasant.” “She’s so low-class, she probably couldn’t even get a job sweeping floors at the Devlin offices.” I knew I wasn’t a goddess, but I was definitely not ugly. Why, in their mouths, did I sound like something scraped off the bottom of a shoe? The human tendency to latch onto power and crush the weak was truly vile. “Brooks Devlin,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “Go tell your father that I am breaking off this engagement. You’re not good enough for me.” I knew my mother had made his father jump through hoops to secure this alliance. If his son had ruined it, there would be hell to pay. The thought cheered me slightly. I was done with these idiots. I turned to walk away. But Savannah, emboldened by the presence of her man, blocked my exit again. “You’re not going anywhere, bitch! You stole my dress and hit me. We’re not done settling the score.” I looked at her with disdain. “How do you propose to settle it?” Thinking I was intimidated, she raised her hand to slap me. “By hitting you until I’m satisfied.” I intercepted her wrist with one hand and delivered a sharp, clean slap across her cheek with the other. She stared at me, disbelief twisting her features. “You—you hit a—” I reversed the movement and hit her again, harder. I asked, my voice low and dangerous, “Are you satisfied now?” The two slaps thoroughly extinguished her bravado. She whimpered and scrambled to hide behind Brooks. “Brooksie! You have to protect me!” Brooks pulled her protectively into his arms, then glared at me. “You dare lay a hand on my person? You must have a death wish.” He signaled his bodyguards behind him to grab me. I managed to take out the first one, but I was quickly overwhelmed. They were professionals. After a few solid blows, I was on the ground. Two of them hauled me up, dragging me back in front of Brooks and Savannah. Brooks gave Savannah a sympathetic look. “Go on, Sav. Settle it. Do whatever you want. I’ll take care of the fallout.” That was all the assurance she needed. She swung her arm, slapping me twice, then spat a stream of saliva right onto my face. “Bitch! You were so tough a minute ago! Where’s that attitude now?” Then, she kicked me hard in the lower abdomen. Clutching my stomach, the pain blinding me, I looked up at both of them. “You will both regret this. I swear, I will never let you get away with this!” Savannah laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “The Devlin family is one of the three pillars of power in this city! What are you, a street urchin, going to do against us?” “Today, I’m going to make sure you remember what it costs to cross me!” She pulled a silver nail file—no, a set of clippers—from her purse and dragged the sharp edge across my cheek. A searing heat erupted, and my skin swelled, blood quickly beading along the line. “I told her not to cross the Devlins,” a woman whispered mournfully. “What a shame. Such a lovely face. Now it’s ruined.” “We common people just have to know when to keep our heads down.” Savannah raised the clippers for another swipe. The sheer terror of being permanently scarred seized me. I immediately started pleading. “I’m sorry. The dress is yours. I shouldn’t have fought you for it.” Not a gentleman’s revenge; a quiet one. But Savannah carved another line across my face. “Too late for apologies, bitch! I’m not done until I’ve satisfied my rage!” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. I looked at Brooks. “Brooks Devlin, don’t you care who I am? Allowing her to do this to me—you will regret it!” He looked disgusted. “Your identity? You mean your tramp of a mother, who sweet-talked my old man until he lost his mind and forced this engagement? That identity?” Savannah’s eyes glinted with malice. “A gold-digger’s daughter. You must be a little gold-digger yourself. I think we need to strip you down and wash the stench off you!” “No!” Just then, my cell phone rang inside my purse. I struggled frantically, but Savannah snatched it before I could reach it. She swiped the answer button. My mother’s voice, calm and warm, filled the air. “Audrey, how did the dress shopping go?” I screamed into the phone. “Mom! Please, help me! I’m being beaten, and they’re going to strip me!” Vivian’s voice snapped with immediate panic. “What! Who is doing this?” Savannah’s voice, arrogant and loud, cut across the line. “It’s me, your worst nightmare! Your little gold-digger is out here soliciting attention, so I’m giving her a lesson in manners!” My mother’s voice was deadly quiet. “I don’t care who you are. Release my daughter immediately, or when I get there, you’ll be the one learning a lesson.” “Oh, do come over! I’ll be right here waiting for you, witch. I’ll peel the skin right off you both!” Smash. Savannah slammed the phone down, shattering it. She backhanded me again. “You two are cut from the same trashy cloth! When your mother gets here, I’ll strip her too!” Time crawled by. It felt like half a century, though barely five minutes had passed. Finally, a familiar, armored Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled into the loading zone outside the boutique. My mother, Vivian, pushed the car door open and stepped out. “I’d like to see who is planning to peel my skin.” The moment I saw her, the shame and pain of the last hour collapsed into pure relief. “Mom!” I choked out. Vivian rushed toward me, pulling me into her embrace. Finally, nestled in her familiar, expensive scent, I felt safe. The onlookers gasped again, their whispers changing direction. “Look at that car! That’s a custom-armored Phantom. Global limited edition.” “Only old-money or serious power owns a car like that. Miss Reed might have just kicked a steel plate.” “A steel plate? No one is harder than the Devlins!” Savannah was of the same mind. She marched right up to my mother, oblivious to the danger. “So, you’re the old witch. Your daughter tried to steal the dress I wanted and she attacked me. Tell me, how exactly are you going to pay for this?” Vivian simply raised an eyebrow. “Tell me. How do you want to be paid?” Savannah, mistaking my mother’s stillness for fear, crowed her demands. “The dress has been touched, so you owe me ten times the price for compensation. For the two bruises I got, she needs to kneel before me, kiss my shoes, and give herself twenty open-hand slaps. Most importantly, the engagement to Brooks is canceled.” She made a grand, condescending gesture. “If you agree to all of this, I’ll be merciful and let you leave the store. Otherwise, neither of you is walking out of here.” My mother, hearing the sheer gall of the demands, actually started to laugh. She patted my shoulder reassuringly, then walked slowly toward Savannah. “The engagement between Audrey and Brooks will certainly be called off, because Brooks Devlin is utterly unworthy of being my son-in-law. As for the rest of your demands…” Vivian raised her hand and delivered a savage, precise slap across Savannah’s face. “You can forget about them. The only people not walking out of here today will be you.” Savannah was stunned for a second, then tried to retaliate. One of my mother’s bodyguards moved with lightning speed, kicking Savannah’s legs out from under her, forcing her to her knees. Her arms were pinned behind her like steel restraints. “Brooksie, it hurts! Help me!” Savannah cried out, looking up at him. Brooks signaled his own bodyguards, but they were quickly dispatched by Vivian’s team. Within moments, Brooks Devlin was also forced to his knees, pinned directly in front of me. My mother slapped Brooks with equal force. “Since you were a child, I haven’t allowed a single finger to be laid on my daughter. You allowed her to be subjected to this humiliation. You will pay for it tenfold, a hundredfold!” Brooks shouted defiantly. “I’m the CEO of the Devlin Group! You crazy old woman—do you have any idea the consequences of hitting me?” “You dare to hurt my daughter? I wouldn’t hesitate to slap your father just as hard if he were here!” The crowd gasped again.

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After working nonstop for the better part of a year, my wedding was supposed to be my escape—a blissful, week-long vacation. Instead, my new husband Liam’s “little sister” from his graduate program showed up unannounced at our door in the frigid north, wanting to experience life as a “delicate Southern flower who’s never seen snow.” Liam, worried about her staying in a hotel alone, insisted she stay with us. On her first day, she cranked our thermostat up to eighty-five degrees. “Jane, Vivi gets cold easily. Just keep the heat on, don’t touch it.” “Jane, Vivi needs her fruit peeled and sliced. Could you handle that for her? She’s a bit clumsy, and I’d hate for her to cut herself.” “Jane, Vivi doesn’t eat much. Can you find a child-sized bowl for her?” Just like that, Vivian’s arrival transformed me from the lady of the house into the live-in help. 1 I was melting in the living room, my pajamas sticking to my skin with sweat. I retreated to our bedroom and cracked open a window for a breath of fresh air. It hadn’t been open for a minute before Liam burst in. “What are you doing? Vivi’s face is pale from the draft!” he hissed, slamming the window shut. “I told you she can’t handle the cold. She’s our guest. Can’t you be a little more considerate?” “I’m in our bedroom. How is my open window bothering her?” Vivian appeared at the doorway, her voice a soft, fragile whisper. “I’m so sorry, Jane. I’ve just been delicate since I was a child. The slightest chill gets to me. Liam is just a little overprotective. I told him I could stay in a hotel, but he wouldn’t hear of it.” She offered a polite, placid smile. “Jane, if you’re really that uncomfortable, maybe… you could get a hotel room?” The words, though spoken sweetly, were a clear provocation. “This is my home. You want me to go to a hotel?” Vivian’s lower lip trembled as she looked to Liam for support. “She has a point, Jane,” Liam said. “If you’re too hot here, a hotel might be more comfortable for you.” I took a deep, steadying breath. “Liam, how long have we been married?” “We just had the wedding, you know that.” “Exactly. We’re newlyweds. And you want your wife to sleep alone in a hotel while you and your ‘little sister’ stay in our marital home?” A flicker of unease crossed his face. He softened his tone. “Jane, come on. Vivi is only here for three days, then she has to go back to work. Just put up with it for a little while. Once she’s gone, I’ll take you to see the Northern Lights. I promise.” The Northern Lights. It was a dream I’d held onto for years, always postponed because I never had anyone to go with. “Really?” “Have I ever lied to you?” My anger subsided slightly. I went to my closet to find some lighter pajamas, but Liam’s voice stopped me. “Oh, and Jane? Could you sleep in the guest room for the next few nights? The master bedroom faces south, so it’s warmer. It’ll be better for Vivi.” “If I’m in the guest room, where are you sleeping?” “I’m scared of sleeping alone,” Vivian chimed in from the doorway. “Liam has to stay with me.” I let out a laugh that was sharp and humorless. “Does being young give you a free pass to act like a clueless child and treat everyone else like an idiot?” “Jane, what are you thinking?” Liam said quickly. “I’ll sleep on the floor!” I inhaled slowly, trying to calm the storm raging inside me. “In that case, why don’t I sleep on the floor in there with you, Vivi? After all, your precious Liam is a married man. It wouldn’t look good if word got back to your university, would it?” Vivian pouted. “No. I don’t know you that well.” 2 I knew there was no reasoning with someone like Vivian. She operated without a moral compass. “Fine,” I said. “But I feel I should warn you, little sister. We have security cameras in the bedroom and the living room.” Her face fell. “Liam, what is she talking about?” “Why would you tell her that?” Liam snapped at me. “I’m just being thoughtful,” I said, my voice dripping with false concern. “She’s a young woman. It would be a shame if the cameras captured her doing something… indiscreet.” Vivian’s expression was thunderous. I didn’t bother giving Liam a pleasant one either. “Here’s the plan,” he finally declared. “Vivi, you sleep in the master bedroom with the door open. Jane, you sleep in the guest room with your door open. I’ll sleep on the floor in the hallway between you. Happy now?” I smirked. “Works for me.” Vivian forced a smile. “If Jane’s okay with it, then so am I.” And so, Liam spent the night on the floor. The next morning, he woke me at the crack of dawn. “Get up. We’re taking Vivi to see the ice sculptures today. Hurry up and make some breakfast.” When I placed a traditional breakfast of millet porridge and steamed buns on the table, Vivian wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Jane, where I’m from, we have coffee and sandwiches in the morning. These buns are so greasy, and the smell is so strong. I’m not used to this kind of food.” I took a slow sip of my porridge. “Vivi, if I remember correctly, you’re from a small town in the Midwest, aren’t you?” “You work in the city for two years and suddenly you think you’re a coastal elite? Aren’t these the same buns you grew up eating? How can you not be ‘used to them’ anymore?” I added, “And just because you’re short doesn’t make you a delicate Southern flower.” Her face flushed a deep crimson. “You don’t have to be so hostile toward me, Jane!” “I’m not being hostile. I’m just stating facts.” The doorbell rang. Liam rushed to get it. “I knew you wouldn’t like the local food,” he said, returning with a takeout bag. “So I ordered something for you.” Vivian shot me a triumphant, sideways glance. “I knew you’d take care of me, Liam.” After breakfast, she pulled a wool coat from her suitcase. “Liam, what do you think of this one?” “It’s beautiful, but it’s ten below zero outside. That coat isn’t nearly warm enough.” “You’re the one who can’t handle the cold,” I muttered from the side. “You’ll freeze to death in that thing.” Vivian shot me a dirty look before turning a sweet, pleading face to Liam. “But it will look so good in pictures. I have to wear this one.” She got her way. As we headed out, she slipped into the front passenger seat before I could. “Jane,” Liam said quickly, “the vents are better in the front. Vivi gets cold, so let her sit there.” “Liam and I always ride like this when we go out,” Vivian added, a smug little smile playing on her lips. “He always said his passenger seat was reserved for me.” I let out a soft laugh. “It’s fine. You sit there.” I was morbidly curious now. I wanted to see just how far Liam and Vivian would take this charade over the next three days. 3 We’d barely entered the ice sculpture park before Vivian started shivering uncontrollably, hugging herself for warmth. Liam immediately shrugged off his own down jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “I told you it was too cold for that coat.” “But you gave me this coat,” she said, her voice trembling. “It cost twelve hundred dollars. I never get a chance to wear it, and I wanted to take some nice pictures to remember the trip.” I froze. “Liam, you bought her a twelve-hundred-dollar coat?” He looked flustered. “Vivi’s just starting out, her salary isn’t high. She’d been admiring it for a long time, so I bought it for her birthday. It’s just a coat, Jane. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” “She doesn’t have a high salary? You don’t have a salary at all! You haven’t even graduated! I’m the one paying for your tuition, your life! You used my money to buy her a designer coat!” His face flushed with anger. “What’s yours and mine? We’re married, Jane. What’s yours is mine. What’s wrong with me using my own money to buy my friend a gift?” “Liam, I never realized you were so shameless!” In our ten years together, the most expensive gift he’d ever given me was a twenty-dollar necklace. He always said that once he finished his Ph.D. and got a good job, he’d buy me anything I wanted. I thought he was being frugal. Now I realized he was only frugal with me. “Oh, Jane,” Vivian said sweetly. “The style is a bit young for you anyway. Otherwise, I’d offer to give it to you.” “Who wants your second-hand trash?” I snapped. Her eyes welled up with tears. Liam’s temper flared. “That was a nasty thing to say, Jane. I was having a good day, and I don’t want to fight with you. Just drop it!” Vivian tugged on his arm. “Liam, you gave me your jacket. Your lips are turning blue.” She took his hands in hers and blew on them. “Is that warmer?” He couldn’t hide his smile. “Much warmer.” “I should give it back. I don’t want you to get sick.” She started to take the jacket off. “I’m a man, I can handle it. You’re the one who’s delicate. You wear it.” “No,” she insisted. “I’d rather get sick myself than see you suffer. If you won’t wear it, then neither will I.” They went back and forth until Liam finally gave in and put the jacket back on. Vivian stood there, shivering violently but insisting she wasn’t cold. Suddenly, Liam’s gaze fell on me. “Take off your jacket and give it to Vivi.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It took me a moment to process his words. “What? Why?” “You’re not the one who’s cold! What do you need such a thick coat for?” “I may not get cold easily, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it at all!” “Stop arguing and give her the jacket.” He reached for me. I stumbled backward. “What are you doing? I never said I would give it to her! Let go of me!” He ignored my protests, his hands grabbing at the zipper of my coat, trying to pull it off me. I fought back, clutching the fabric desperately. Vivian’s teeth were chattering. “Liam, don’t… don’t make things hard for Jane. I’m fine, really. I won’t freeze to death.” Hearing the tremor in her voice only made Liam more determined. He yanked harder. The ground was slick with ice. In the struggle, my feet went out from under me, and I fell backward, my head cracking against the frozen ground with a sickening thud. Thankfully, I was wearing a thick, padded hat, or there would have been blood. Even so, the impact left me stunned and disoriented. While I was dazed, Liam ripped the down jacket off my body. By the time my vision cleared, my coat was on Vivian. “Liam,” she said, “I think Jane is hurt. Maybe you should check on her.” “People from up here fall on the ice all the time. Besides, she’s tough as nails. A little slip won’t kill her.” He then turned his cold eyes on me. “If you’re cold, you can take a cab home. It’s not like you haven’t seen these sculptures before. I can stay here with Vivi.” 4 Liam wrapped his arm around Vivian, and they walked away without a backward glance. The other tourists stared at me. Some whispered, others pulled out their phones to record. I knew that soon, videos of me would be online, captioned with all sorts of stories. Maybe they’d even call me the mistress, caught and shamed by the wife. But none of that mattered anymore. I struggled to sit up. The ten-degree wind felt warm compared to the ice in my heart. I finally had to admit it. My ten years of devotion, all wasted on a dog. I pushed myself to my feet and walked to the park entrance. It took almost an hour to get a cab. By then, I was numb, my body a block of ice. “Miss,” the driver said with concern, “why are you out in this weather without a proper coat?” “I guess I let a fool make my decisions for me,” I said quietly. If I wasn’t a fool, why would I have supported him through seven years of graduate school? If I wasn’t a fool, why would I have been the one to buy the ring and propose to him? Back home, I buried myself under a pile of blankets, trying to stop shivering. Liam and Vivian didn’t return until after dark. She was still wearing my jacket. “Jane, I brought you some barbecue. See? I’m not so bad,” Liam said, holding out a greasy bag. “Eat it before it gets cold.” “You brought me your leftovers?” “They’re not leftovers! I saved these for you!” “You know I don’t eat lamb.” His face soured. “The vendor must have mixed up the order.” I wasn’t feeling well. A cough escaped my lips. Vivian gasped dramatically. “Oh no, Jane! You don’t think you have the flu, do you? I heard this year’s strain is really contagious and hard to get over.” Liam grew anxious. “Vivi, your immune system is weak. You can’t get sick.” “What should we do? We’re all living under the same roof.” “Let’s go to a hotel,” he decided instantly. “This whole house is probably contaminated by now.” He grabbed Vivian’s purse and started for the door. “Jane, I’m taking Vivi to a hotel. We’ll be back after you’re better.” “Vivian,” I called out, my voice flat. She turned. “It was Liam’s idea, Jane. I couldn’t stop him.” “Don’t worry, Jane,” Liam added. “We’ll get two rooms.” “Oh? Were you planning on getting one?” He scowled. “Don’t worry, Jane,” Vivian said with a smirk. “Even if we were in the same room, Liam would just be helping me with my thesis.” “I just wanted to tell you one thing, Vivian,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I’m a soldier in the United States Army.” She scoffed. “So what? Does that make you better than the rest of us?” Destroying a military marriage, however, comes with a price. I watched them leave, then I called my best friend, Chloe. “Liam took his little protégée to a hotel. Can you find out where they went?” Chloe’s family owned a chain of luxury hotels. Liam, with his inflated ego, would never take Vivian to a cheap motel. It was almost certainly one of Chloe’s properties. Sure enough, a few minutes later, she sent me a location and two room numbers. They had indeed booked separate rooms. I texted Chloe: Keep an eye on them for me. Ten minutes later, my phone rang. “Jane,” Chloe said, her voice urgent. “That little witch just went into your husband’s room!” I was calm. “Are you free right now?” “For you? Always.” “Good. Let’s go catch a cheater.” I raced to the hotel, pulled out my phone, and started a livestream, even paying for a traffic boost. “Hi everyone! My husband is a Ph.D. candidate at the research institute. He’s so hardworking and thoughtful,” I began, my voice bright and cheerful. “We just got married two days ago, and he’s already pulling an all-nighter at a hotel with his junior colleague to work on their thesis.” A comment popped up immediately: Are you sure they’re working on a thesis and not… something else? “Of course!” I laughed. “He’s only doing it at a hotel because I have a little cold, and he didn’t want to disturb my rest. Besides, he’s about to graduate and has a prestigious position waiting for him. Any misconduct would get him expelled and ruin his career. Seven years of hard work down the drain. He would never risk that.” “Also,” I added casually, “I’m an active-duty soldier, and his colleague is actually a well-known influencer. I trust them. They know the law. They wouldn’t jeopardize their futures.” The chat exploded, asking for the influencer’s name. I gave them Vivian’s handle without hesitation. She had a few hundred thousand followers, all built on a carefully crafted persona of a smart, independent woman who didn’t need a man. “I bought them their favorite cupcakes to surprise them,” I said to my phone. “Let’s go, friends! I can’t wait to see the look on my husband’s face.” Chloe used her master keycard. The door clicked open. I burst into the room, phone held high. “Surprise, honey!” The two figures tangled on the bed froze in horror.

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My 60-year-old husband went on a reality TV show to marry his childhood sweetheart, a wedding forty years late. Even my own son and daughter-in-law were there, smiling as they called her “Mom.” Everyone said I was the lucky one. A washed-up starlet with a scandalous past, married to a world-renowned scientist. Ten million comments petitioned for my husband to divorce me and rekindle his old flame. A scientist, they said, shouldn’t win in his career only to lose at love. Meanwhile, I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Chemotherapy had stolen all my hair. With the clock ticking down, I held one last concert. A final farewell to my fans, dressed in a wedding gown. The moment I stepped offstage, my breathing stopped. They rushed me to the hospital. After I died, a tribute video from my most devoted fan of forty years was released. It silenced everyone. 1 I was in a daze as they loaded me onto the ambulance. Voices swam around me. “She’s faking it, right? She knows today is Eleanor’s birthday, and Professor Lake planned this huge surprise for her. She’s just trying to steal the spotlight. We’re not blind.” “I don’t know… her lips were completely white. I think she might actually be sick…” “Oh, please. She could have gotten sick any day of the year, but she picks Eleanor’s birthday? Lydia Thorne’s tactics are as cheap and childish as ever. No wonder Professor Lake never got over his first love. Imagine being married to a woman that vindictive and pathetic for decades. It must have been hell.” “She’s sixty years old, for god’s sake. Can’t she just let it go? The world would be a quieter place for the Lake family if she just died already.” The lights of the operating room were blinding. I couldn’t open my eyes. Anesthesia flowed into my veins, but my mind remained cruelly awake. Tears, salty as brine, streamed down my face. A flash of white light. I thought, with a surge of relief, that I was finally free. But I woke to the sound of my son and his wife arguing by my bedside. “Mom just had to pull a stunt like this. Dad’s entire surprise for Eleanor is ruined,” my son, Marcus, spat. “I told you she was a drama queen, always needing to be the center of attention. She can’t just stay home, she has to go out and compete with Eleanor. She’s an old woman, why can’t she just act her age?” “Your dad has put up with her for far too long,” my daughter-in-law added, her voice sharp. “If I were married to a piece of work like that, I would’ve divorced her ages ago. Your dad’s just too nice. He pitied her, gave her a home, and she started thinking she was some kind of princess everyone had to worship.” I didn’t open my eyes. I just listened to the venom from my only son. The tears soaked my pillow again, hot and bitter. I knew they resented me. I just didn’t know their resentment had festered into such a deep, obsessive hatred. Wiping my eyes on the corner of the duvet, I used every ounce of strength I had to sit up. Seeing me awake, Marcus’s face twisted into a scowl. He jabbed a finger at me. “Mom, I’m serious,” he said, his voice thick with blame. “If you need money, just ask. It’s not like we’re starving you. But you go out and make a public spectacle of yourself, pulling these cheap tricks. What are people supposed to think? That we’re broke?” “Dad is a world-famous scientist. He’s dedicated his whole life to his work. The least you could do is be a supportive wife, but all you do is embarrass him. Is it any wonder he prefers Eleanor? You should take a good, long look at yourself, Mom.” “Is it so hard to just stay home and be the perfect professor’s wife?” The words to defend myself died in my throat. All I could manage was a faint, whispered, “…Okay.” I don’t have long left. Soon, they’ll be free of me. They can finally call Eleanor “Mom,” just like they’ve always wanted. My daughter-in-law slipped a gold chain from her wrist and tossed it onto the bed with a look of disgust. She barely glanced at me. “Mom, seriously, stop the drama. My father-in-law finally managed to get some time off, and you’ve ruined it all. You don’t want to be kicked out of the house after forty years of marriage and become a laughingstock, do you?” “Here,” she said, nodding at the chain. “Sell this. It should get you a decent amount. You’re an old woman, you need to stop throwing money around. I won’t call you shameless, but you can’t stop what other people will say.” My hand trembled as I picked up the chain. It was a family heirloom I had given her on her wedding day. It wasn’t worth much, but it was my symbol of acceptance. Clearly, my acceptance means nothing to them anymore. Marcus took his wife’s hand. “We’re busy, Mom,” he said, his voice laced with irritation. “Once your IV drip is finished, just go home.” And they left. A moment later, my assistant, Tina, burst in, her face alight with joy. “Lydia! The research lab overseas contacted us! They said you can be in the first group for the clinical trial! You have a chance!” “No, thank you.” 2 “What did you say?” Tina’s eyes widened. I offered her a soft, serene smile. “I said, no, thank you. Give the spot to someone who needs it more. I don’t want to waste it.” “But, Lydia…” “There are no buts,” I said, beckoning her closer. “Tina, my dear, when I’m gone, I need you to burn all my records for me. I plan on launching a singing career in the afterlife, you know.” Tears welled in Tina’s eyes as she sniffled. “Lydia, I’m begging you. Let’s just go try the new treatment. If not for yourself, then think about your fans. Look—” She handed me her phone, and I saw the comments section under my social media page. I debuted forty years ago. My fans were older now, too. They didn’t know how to do PR spin or post glamorous photos. All they left were simple blessings and likes. [Lydia, I’ve been listening to your music for forty years. Please take care of yourself. You’ve made it this far, and I know you’re strong enough to ignore all the vicious rumors. We’ve seen your strength all these years.] [Because you once said men who study medicine are handsome, I went from being a dropout to reenrolling, getting into medical school, and eventually earning my PhD. I’m a doctor now because of you. You changed my life. Let them say what they want. As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters to us fans.] [A concert after twenty years. It brings back so many memories. It’s like my youth is alive again. Keep fighting, Lydia!] I smiled faintly. Then I clicked on the “Trending Topics” banner at the top of the page. Professor Nick Lake Proposes to First Love, Spurned Wife Lydia Thorne Fakes Collapse at Concert to Steal Thunder Lydia Thorne: The Mad Queen in the Cold Palace. Was Her Concert Collapse Real or a Desperate Ploy for Attention? Petition to Divorce Lydia Thorne Reaches 15 Million Signatures. Will Her Antics Finally End Her Marriage? It was a bloodbath. [Even someone as patient as Professor Lake can’t stand Lydia Thorne. It just proves all the rumors about her are true: she’s a diva, cheated on him with producers, has a nasty temper, sabotaged other artists, lied about her education, a pathological liar… Any one of those would get you canceled. She’s guilty of all six. If it weren’t for the Professor’s reputation, she would’ve been doxxed into oblivion by now.] [Any assassins here who also hate Lydia Thorne? [praying hands emoji] Next time you’re on a job, could you swing by the hospital and pull her breathing tube?] [I wish I could go back in time and un-exist her. Why does she even exist? God, just take her already.] Tina snatched the phone away, hiding it behind her back. Her smile was strained. “Lydia, people online are just full of hate. Don’t pay them any mind.” Just then, the door to my room was thrown open. A woman in a sharp black pantsuit stood there, leaning against the frame, catching her breath. “Lydia,” she said. “Come with me to the Arctic. Let’s go see the Northern Lights.” Her eyes were intense. “This world is a toxic mess. Just leave it all behind. Come with me. Please?” 3 The day I was discharged from the hospital, our house was strung with fairy lights. Fireworks exploded over the roof of the villa, painting the night sky in brilliant colors. Tina pushed my suitcase behind me, pouting. “Professor Lake is really something else. So this is why he didn’t visit you in the hospital. He was planning a birthday surprise for you. About time he did something right for once.” I paused, then gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. When did I stop celebrating my birthday? Right after I married Nick Lake. I pushed the door open. The lively chatter inside instantly died. When they saw me, the smiles on their faces froze. It was the crew from the reality show. So, they were filming Nick’s show here. At my home. There were cakes and “Happy Birthday” banners everywhere. I picked up a small slice of cake and started to head toward the garden, but the show’s producer stopped me. “Ms. Thorne, I’m sorry, you can’t go in there. We’re filming.” I didn’t break my stride, just offered him a gentle smile over my shoulder. “But isn’t this all for me? You can’t very well film without the guest of honor, can you?” With that, I reached the garden entrance. In that instant, the cheerful strains of “Happy Birthday” ended, and a massive firework shot into the air. “To my darling little Gigi,” Eleanor Vance cooed, holding a small poodle in her arms and twirling around. “Happy birthday, my sweet baby. May all your days be filled with joy and full food bowls.” Nick stood nearby, a Polaroid camera in his hand, his eyes filled with a tender adoration I had never seen before as he snapped picture after picture. But I remembered. Nick had once told me his hands were only for the lab. Asking him to even fold a shirt was an insult to his genius. So I did everything. I washed his underwear by hand, prepared three meals a day, drank on his behalf to secure funding, and smoothed things over with his superiors. I even spoon-fed him and washed him when he was too preoccupied. One time, I asked him to turn off the light before bed, and he flew into a rage. “What do you have hands and feet for? If you’re not going to use them, I’ll cut them off.” At sixty years old, Nick could still burn a pot of water trying to boil an egg. Eleanor lifted the poodle up, placing it in his arms. He took it with exquisite care, as if handling the most precious jewel in the world. But what about my dog? My little dog, who Nick beat to death ten years ago because he was supposedly allergic to dog hair. I came home from a tour to find nothing but a pool of blood on the floor. My son, Marcus, had taken what was left of him and made a stew. He served it to me with a grin, asking how it tasted. That was the one time I couldn’t contain my fury. I flipped the dining table over. As punishment, Nick locked me in the dark, damp cellar with the spiders and rats for three whole days. When he finally let me out, I was barely breathing. My vision blurred. I scrubbed at my eyes. Marcus, dressed in a tuxedo, placed a tiny crown on the poodle’s head, scratching it affectionately. “Gigi,” he cooed. “Call me big brother. I’m your brother now.” A perfect family portrait. It was broken when my grandson shoved me hard from behind. I stumbled and fell. The six-year-old boy’s eyebrows shot up, and he pointed a finger at me. “Daddy! The mean grandma is here again!” 4 Suddenly, every eye in the garden was on me. Tina rushed to help me up, her jaw tight with anger. “What is wrong with you, you little brat? Who taught you such terrible manners?” My daughter-in-law shrieked and ran over. She shot me a glare before scooping the child into her arms. “Honestly,” she muttered under her breath. “Setting such a terrible example for her own grandson. Picking on a little child.” At that moment, my eyes met Eleanor’s across the lawn. I didn’t miss the flicker of triumph in her gaze. The disgraced versus the glamorous. After all these decades, our roles had finally reversed. Once, I was the superstar, married to a handsome, brilliant man on the rise. Her wealthy husband had gone bankrupt, leaving her with a mountain of debt and a trail of illegitimate children. She had knelt outside my villa gate in a torrential downpour, begging me to take her in, appealing to our old school ties. I was no saint. I had no intention of helping her. But Nick was. The next day, Eleanor moved into my house. The next year, her belly began to swell. I was the one who personally forced an abortifacient down her throat. I watched the blood pool on the floor around her, and I laughed, a wild, sharp sound. That night, Nick flew back from Los Angeles. He slapped me dozens of times, beat me until my bones fractured. They didn’t take me to the hospital until dawn. He pressed his thumb into one of my bruises, his voice a venomous hiss. “Lydia, if you don’t learn to obey, you’ll die in this hospital.” The memory faded. I looked at the Eleanor standing before me now. Her hair was a glossy black, without a single strand of grey, a jade pin nestled in the ends. A sleeveless silk dress clung to her trim figure, revealing not a hint of a belly. The diamonds on her ears, neck, wrist, and fingers glittered under the lights, broadcasting her immense wealth. She smiled elegantly. “Oh, it’s you, dear,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension. “I didn’t expect you. Well, Gigi can’t eat all this cake. Would you like a piece?” She spoke as if she were the lady of the house. I curled my lip into a smile. “No, thank you. I’m just here to pack my things. And also—” Tina pulled a folder from her bag and slapped it down on the table with a theatrical flourish. “The divorce papers.” 5 At the sight of them, Nick’s eyes went wide. The initial shock quickly morphed into pure rage. “Lydia, what new drama is this? It’s Gigi’s birthday, and we’re filming a live show. Do you have to make a scene and humiliate everyone?” Tina glared right back at him. “Professor Lake, it’s just a divorce. There’s no need to get so worked up. You don’t love her anyway, so what’s the big deal?” “Look at yourself,” Nick sneered at me. “You think you’re some young starlet? Who’s going to want you at your age? Without me, you’re nothing!” My voice was ice. “Nick, I don’t need anyone to ‘take me in.’ And you certainly don’t get to control me anymore.” Nick was so furious his glasses trembled on his nose. Eleanor gently tugged at his sleeve. “Darling, you’ve always been so impulsive,” she murmured, loud enough for the cameras to hear. “The same as you were decades ago. You haven’t changed a bit.” “I remember when Nick and I were dating, you were always so jealous. Every time we went on a date, you’d demand he pay you a hundred dollars as ’emotional compensation.’ I thought of you as a little sister then. I never imagined you two would end up together. It made things rather awkward for me.” “We’re all getting on in years,” she finished with a sigh. “We should all know when to behave with a little dignity.” In a few short sentences, she had painted me as the homewrecker. The live chat exploded. [OMG, I always felt a little weird shipping the Professor with Eleanor since he’s married, but it turns out they were the original couple! This just makes it better! Star-crossed lovers!] [True love wins! They married other people, but it was just a detour on the long road back to each other. I’m not crying, you’re crying.] [Just sign the papers already! I’ve been sick of Lydia Thorne forever. Her music’s okay, I guess, but her personality is trash. Get this homewrecker out of the entertainment industry and out of the Professor’s life!] Nick nodded curtly, and Marcus immediately understood. A moment later, Marcus returned from upstairs with a small ring box. Without a moment’s hesitation, Nick strode to the table, signed the papers, then took the wedding ring from the box and hurled it into the nearby lake. “There, Lydia,” he snarled. “You’d better not live to regret this!” I gave him one last, long, meaningful look. “I won’t.” “I hope you won’t either.” I took the signed divorce papers. Before I could even make it to the door, a spray of blood erupted from my mouth. The world went black, and a piercing ring drowned out all other sound. Just before I lost consciousness, I heard Nick’s voice, dripping with scorn. “Lydia, what new trick is this? I knew you’d regret it.” Then, Tina’s frantic sobs. “Lydia! Lydia, please, just hold on! I’m begging you…” But I knew. My flame had finally gone out. The light above the operating room door switched off. On camera, the doctor emerged, his expression grave. “The patient had a terminal illness. You should have been prepared for this day to come.” “Who’s the next of kin? You should go in and say your goodbyes.”

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